


For Love of Lore

by Sunfreckle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon!Enjolras, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Kelpie!Montparnasse, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Selkie!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 37,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: Want to some fantasy fluff with the whole cast as legendary creatures and not a drop of conflict? I know I do.[A series of connected ficlets crossposted from my tumblr.]





	1. Seal coat and Scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt from a kind anon on trumblr :)

Grantaire is lying on his stomach on a flat rock that rises just above sea level, his lower half still comfortably in the foamy water. It’s early in the morning yet, the wisps of mist that drew  from the sea towards the shore have barely dissolved. Through the faint haze that is still left Grantaire sees a shape approaching. It’s a black stallion and the gate of his hooves is like poetry itself. Blinking lazily Grantaire watches him approach the shore. He is too familiar with the elegant movements and the proud demeanour to be impressed. The cobbles on the beach skit away or are trampled under the gleaming black hooves and the horse charges straight into the water. Grantaire doesn’t bother to watch the proud head disappear underneath the waves. A moment later there’s a splash of water beside the rock he is resting on and two pale hands grip the edge. Montparnasse pulls himself up out of the water, his dark hair wet and slick against his head.

“Show off,” Grantaire hums.

“Good morning to you too,” Montparnasse snarks. He sits down with his legs crossed.

In the grey light of morning his skin looks even paler than it is, but Grantaire knows the lighting doesn’t matter. Montparnasse will always be annoyingly beautiful.

His grey eyes are staring of into the distance. “I saw someone walking towards the shore,” he says nonchalantly.

Grantaire makes an exasperated sound. “I swear, if I have to rescue _one_ more of your stupid victims I’m telling Jehan.”

Montparnasse makes a tutting sound. “This one isn’t really my type,” he says airily.

“That’ll be a first,” Grantaire grunts. He splashes his heavy tail in the water, making Montparnasse glare.

He ignores the insult however and continues casually: “Too blonde for a start… To loud… To interested in you.”

Grantaire gulps and nearly rolls off the rock.

Montparnasse’s distinctive kelpie laugh sounds loud and neighing across the water.

“ _Enjolras_ is on his way here?” Grantaire splutters. “Why didn’t you just say that, you ass.”

“I was going to,” Montparnasse sniffs. “ _You_ were the one that decided to be rude.” He lets himself slide smoothly off the rock and allows the waves to carry him for a moment so he can shoot his most annoying grin at Grantaire. “Good luck, seal-boy.”

He dives under water before Grantaire can either answer or lash out at him. Anxiously Grantaire directs his gaze towards the shore. This is ridiculous. Will he ever not be nervous at the prospect of speaking to Enjolras? Because it’s the speaking that’s the problem. Seeing him is fine. Grantaire used to watch him wander along the shore, collecting pebbles for hours. But that was before he actually met him. Before Enjolras _noticed_ him. There is a jolt of nerves in his stomach as his eyes finally discern a shape in the distance that might be Enjolras. Grantaire watches it approach until he is sure. It only takes the morning sun throwing one rosy ray on the figure’s head. Golden locks gleam like yellow flames and Grantaire knows it can only be Enjolras. He slides off the rock, his round body moving with as much grace as Montparnasse’s lanky one and swims to the shore with effortless preoccupation. As soon as his tail brushes the loose cobbles of the beach his sealcoat unfurls from around him and two feet offer him stability. Grantaire follows the rolling waves onto the shore, wrapped loosely in his furry pelt. He would rather wait for Enjolras like this. Transforming before the eyes of someone else is unnerving to him. He sits down on a boulder resting very near the water that is big enough to seat two and turns his head towards the walking figure. He takes a deep breath and raises his arm in a wave.

“Grantaire?” a melodic voice calls out.

“Who else,” he calls back, thankful that his voice displays more confidence than he feels.

Enjolras speeds up and Grantaire smiles when he is near enough for Grantaire to hear the pebbles clinking in his pockets. Enjolras has a relatively hard time repressing his hoarding tendencies.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here,” Enjolras says, almost apologetically. “But you usually are in the morning so…”

“It’s very early,” Grantaire points out. “You must have left before sun-up.” Waking up without the sun on his face is distasteful to Enjolras, Grantaire isn’t sure he has ever seen him this early in the day. He gives Enjolras an enquiring look. “Wait…did you even sleep?”

“I did!” Enjolras protests. He sighs. “Just, not a lot?” He sits down on the boulder beside Grantaire.

Grantaire looks out across the beach, watching the waves break on the shore. “Did something happen?” he asks.

“No…” Enjolras says slowly.

Grantaire nods and waits. Enjolras lives in the small town nearby. Lots of people there. People that, kind and understanding as they may be, still get freaked out by things they did not expect to see. Maybe that’s why Enjolras rambles around the fields and over the beaches so much. Maybe that’s why when he’s talking to Grantaire-

“It’s just frustrating!” Enjolras bursts out. “I mean I _like_ it here. And it’s great having to not, you know, hide who I am. It’s definitely better than the city but-” He gestures in frustration. “Now it just seems like I’m dealing with stupid stereotypes every other day. Why the _hell_ would I care whether someone is a virgin or not?”

Grantaire is _very_ happy Enjolras doesn’t expect him to actually answer that question, because it took all his self-command to not audibly choke at that sentence. It’s not that he minds, he just didn’t expect the conversation to take that turn. Enjolras luckily doesn’t notice his temporary distraction and swiftly moves on to other grievances. Grantaire doesn’t interrupt him. Enjolras clearly needs to vent.

And Enjolras _does_ vent. He vents until sparks start flying from his mouth and thin wisps of smoke crinkle from his nose every time he exhales in a huff. Grantaire feels the heat that always radiates around Enjolras growing stronger and he silently basks in it. In the water he is never cold, but on the shore he is. Enjolras pours his heart out until his fire literally spills from his lips.

“Sorry,” he gulps, shutting his mouth in embarrassment.

Grantaire laughs softly. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You bottle stuff up too much.” He’s painfully aware of how much that is the pot calling the kettle black, but he carefully ignores that.

“I know,” Enjolras sighs. He glances sideways at Grantaire and gives him a slight smile. “Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for warming me up,” Grantaire quips.

Enjolras smiles a little wider. He looks a lot better now. Less at war with himself and the world in general. “How have things been here?” he asks after a while.

“Wet,” Grantaire says seriously.

Enjolras makes a sound hallway between a laugh and a scoff. “I’m serious,” he says. “Talk to me about what bothers you for a change.”

Grantaire grimaces. “Kelpies,” he says decidedly. “Kelpies bother me.”

Enjolras laughs. “Why?” he asks.

Grantaire pulls a dramatically incredulous face. “Have you ever _met_ a kelpie?”

Enjolras laughs again and this time Grantaire can hear the roar of fire and the clink of gold echoing in the back of it. He grins and thinks it’s a pretty fantastical thing, for a selkie to be able to make a dragon laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is too much fun to write to stop here! Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more <3


	2. Seal coat and Scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm struggling with how to name these chapters, because soon there will be some ficlets focussed on other characters and it's probably nice for people if they can see immediately which chapters "belong together". So for now this one has the same name as the last one, because they are both enjoltaire.
> 
> If you have any suggestions on this point I'd love to hear them :)

The sea wind is fresh without being cold and Enjolras inhales large lungfuls of it. Deep breaths. That’s it. He’s done these breathing exercises since he was a kid. They always work. It’s kind of silly he needs them again though, he hasn’t had this problem for years.

A merry shout echoes out across the shore and in a flash Enjolras sees his first glimpse of Grantaire of the day. He’s wrestling in the surf with two pups so young they can hardly be distinguished from normal seals. Suddenly two unmistakable selkie heads pop up from the waves beside Grantaire and four chubby arms do their level best to push him further ashore. Enjolras guesses that must be the selkie equivalent of dunking someone under water.

“Unhand me, you little brats!” Grantaire roars and he makes a grab for the new assailants while the smaller pups let out barking laughs that still sound oddly human.

“Get him Gav!” a female voice shouts, grabbing at Grantaire’s tail.

Grantaire gives a proper flick of his fins and the young selkie screams and laughs as she’s flung back into the sea. Grantaire swims after her, but a split second later all three of her brothers leap on top of him and he sinks.

Enjolras laughs out loud and a shower of sparks bursts from his lips. He clasps his hand in front of his mouth. Damn it. He really needs to get a hold of himself. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly, steady- Grantaire emerges from the water and hops onto a rock, a pup dangling from their tail in each hand. This time sparks fly from Enjolras’ nose. What the hell is wrong with him?

“Grantaire!” a new voice calls out. “You’re being watched.”

Enjolras scans the shoreline wildly and colours when he sees a girl lying in the sun in a gentle hollow in the pebble beach. She’s wrapped loosely in a sealcoat that is much browner than Grantaire’s. It matches the colour of her long hair. Grantaire looks up, sees him, and lowers the seal pups back into the water before waving.

Enjolras waves back and swallows the sparks jumping to his lips.

“Shoo!” Grantaire laughs, when the pups try to climb onto his rock. “Go bother Parnasse, he’s in the cave.” He slides off the rock and swims to the shore, to where the selkie girl is lounging.

Enjolras walks towards the same spot, albeit rather awkwardly. He’s never seen Grantaire hang out with other selkies before and its kind embarrassing to just intrude on them like this.

“Enjolras, this is Éponine,” Grantaire says with a grin when he’s reached them.

“Oh!” Enjolras exclaims. “So those were your siblings!” He gestures to the water. Grantaire has told him all about Éponine and her brothers and sister, but he’s never actually seen them.

“All four of them,” Éponine hums in agreement. “So you’re the dragon?” She smirks at him. “I see you around here a _lot_.”

Enjolras squares his shoulders defiantly. “I would have introduced myself if you had allowed me to see you,” he says.

“I was only teasing,” Éponine smiles. “The beach belongs to all of us, right?”

Enjolras relaxes a little.

“Oh, kids incoming,” Grantaire warns.

The two older seal pups from before emerge from the waves. The girl plants feet on the shore and runs up to her sister, wrapped firmly in her pelt, but the boy sits down beside Grantaire. Both have their tail still in the very edge of the waves. He gives Enjolras an appraising look. “You Enjolras?” he asks.

“Yes,” Enjolras says, looking back steadily.

“That’s Gavroche,” Éponine says helpfully.

“And I’m Azelma,” her sister says.

“You don’t much look like a dragon,” Gavroche points out.

“Gav,” Grantaire grunts.

“Well he doesn’t,” Gavroche insists.

Without saying a word Enjolras tucks his hair behind his ears and moves his face so the sunlight catches on the scales scattered along the edge of his cheek.

Gavroche hums, mildly impressed.

“You can transform fully if you want to, right?” Azelma asks curiously. She has sat down next to Éponine, who is still lying on her back. Azelma’s pelt is also brown and she has drawn herself into it so that only her head and her right hand are visible as she hugs her knees.

“Yes I can,” Enjolras confirms. “But I don’t do it too often.”

Human kids might have asked for a demonstration, but to their credit Azelma and Gavroche do not. Nor do they ask him to breathe fire, which he appreciates.

Grantaire seems pleased too and he ruffles Gavroche’s hair affectionately.

Gavroche squirms and half-heartedly tries to swat his hands away. It looks like a well-established routine between them and Enjolras watches it with mild surprise. He hadn’t expected Grantaire to be so fond of children. It’s sweet. Suddenly his test gives a tell-tale jolt and Enjolras coughs, extinguishing the sparks in his hand. At least he felt it coming this time. “So,” he asks a little hoarsely. “How come I’ve never seen you guys before.” He glances at Éponine with a quirked eyebrow. “If I’m here so much.”

She grins.

“Most selkies only come ashore after moonrise,” Grantaire explains.

“And you might have seen some of them,” Éponine points out. “I’m sure you looked right at me once, you probably just thought I was a regular seal.”

Enjolras would feel embarrassed about that, but looking like regular seals is kind of what selkies are all about so he just nods.

“Éponine and me are wild delinquents,” Grantaire grins. “Going ashore instead of staying at the sandbanks further into the sea.”

“It’s too crowded there,” Éponine sighs. “I need my space okay.” She glances out at the sea. “Gav, can you go keep an eye on Téo and Juju?”

“Sure, I was getting bored anyway,” Gavroche snarks. “See you,” he nods at Enjolras and rolls back into the waves.

Azelma watches him go and stretches out comfortably beside her sister, sticking her legs and arms out from under her pelt.

Enjolras glances at them and then at Grantaire.

Grantaire grins. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks.

“If you feel like it,” Enjolras says gratefully.

Grantaire nods and Enjolras turns around. He knows Grantaire doesn’t like being watched while he transforms.

“What a gentleman,” Éponine teases and Azelma lets out a soft giggle.

Grantaire scoffs. “Come on, Enjolras,” he says and he strides past him dramatically. “Let us leave these insolent ladies to their sunbathing.”

Enjolras laughs, but he can taste smoke on his breath again so he quickly shuts his mouth. Grantaire has wrapped his sealcoat around his waist like a skirt and is walking with his broad shoulders bare in the sun. The light turning the spots on his skin all their different shades of brownish grey. Enjolras stares and then squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Why does that look so pretty? And why is he suddenly full of dragon fire again? He does his utmost to breathe evenly. If he isn’t careful he’ll start breathing actual flames, he is sure of it. If only he knew what to _do_ about this. He’s never felt anything like this before. Even the sparks taste different in his mouth.

“You okay?” Grantaire asks beside him.

“Yeah,” Enjolras nods, looking at his feet, walking in time with Grantaire’s. He doesn’t really want to tell Grantaire about his current fire issue. Now because he think Grantaire would make a big deal out of it, but because telling him wouldn’t make it go away anyway and it’s just embarrassing.

“Éponine likes to tease,” Grantaire says, perhaps guessing she made a rough first impression. “But she clearly likes you, or she wouldn’t have let the pups near you.”

“Azelma and Gavroche are not that young, are they?” Enjolras says. Especially Azelma doesn’t seem that much younger at all.

“Still her pups,” Grantaire shrugs.

Enjolras nods. It’s clearly Éponine who looks after them. She seems a little young for that, but he doesn’t know how selkie families work. They live in big herds, perhaps it makes sense that the raising of pups is a communal effort rather than focussed on specific parents. Suddenly his ears pick up a rumbling sound and Enjolras turns his head, frowning slightly.

Grantaire moves his ears in the same direction, grinning.

A moment later a loud equine cry echoes across the water before being carried off by the sea wind.

“Sounds like Matéo and Judoc woke Montparnasse,” Grantaire snickers.

Enjolras smirks. He’s met Montparnasse a couple times now. As far as he’s concerned he’s not the sort of person he’d let his siblings play with if he had any, but the image of a couple of pups dangling from the conceited kelpie’s mane and tail is _very_ appealing. “It’s nice meeting your friends,” he says, and then, questioningly: “Or are they your family?”

“Bit of both,” Grantaire hums. “Or did you mean literally. Cause Ponine is not from round here originally.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t still be literally your family,” Enjolras says. “My parents are my family.”

Grantaire gives him a confused look.

“Foundling,” Enjolras explains.

“Right,” Grantaire nods. “Well, I have a hole herd full of cousins. Literally.”

Enjolras laughs. “You can’t have,” he protests.

Grantaire grimaces. “You’ve _clearly_ never met a selkie family.”

This time Enjolras snorts and to his relief Grantaire doesn’t even raise his eyebrows at the sparks flying through the air. He’s gearing up to elaborate on the horrors of family gatherings and Enjolras is more than happy to listen. He’s so used to being the one talking, it’s nice to listen to Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason I called this "a series of connected ficlets" instead of an actual story. This series is a lot of fun to write and part of that fun for me is only writing the nice bits, and leaving out the complicated weaving together of a full narrative (like I did try to do for Coffee and Faerie cakes).
> 
> If the shortness of the chapters or the way they fit together isn't your style, I copletely understand. No hard feelings <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Scales and Sparks

Combeferre is pleased with the attic he rents in one if the bigger houses in the town. He's lived there for a while now and it suits him perfectly. Mrs Houcheloup is a kind landlady and even though Combeferre is sure she knows about his condition she never feels the need to bring it up. She clearly hasn't told the neighbours either. "Such a hardworking young man," he has overheard them saying. He must never take a day off, you only ever see him out and about in the evening."

There is a knock at his door and Combeferre gets up from his desk with a smile. Living here has been even more pleasant since Enjolras and his parents moved to town. But Combeferre really hadn't suggested their coming here for selfish reasons. The people in this little seaside town are particularly tolerant of occult species, it's really a much better environment for his young friend.

"Good evening," he says, opening the door for Enjolras. "Come in."

"Likewise and thank you," Enjolras replies, stepping inside and shrugging off his coat.

"Tea?" Combeferre offers.

"Please," Enjolras smiles.

Combeferre puts the kettle on and gives him an enquiring look. "You're looking particularly sun-kissed today."

"I spend a lot of time outside lately," Enjolras says happily.

Combeferre smiles. He still misses the sun, but he knows his friend hasn’t been sunbathing. "You spend a lot of time at the beach, you mean," he says amusedly.

Enjolras makes a huffing sound, but it’s followed immediately by a squeak as a shower of sparks spills from his lips. "Damn!" He blurts, swatting them out of the air before they get the chance to reach the piles of old books Combeferre has lying all around.

Well, that is unusual. Combeferre gives Enjolras a bemused look. "Has that been happening a lot?" he asks curiously.

"I don't know what's wrong," Enjolras says, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "It's like being fourteen again!" He pulls a face.

"That isn't that long ago," Combeferre points out with a grin.

"Shut up," Enjolras grumbles, but he’s already laughing slightly at himself.

Combeferre laughs affectionately. He is forever grateful that he wasn't turned at that age. That would  have been an ordeal. Suddenly a thought occurs to him. He puts down Enjolras’ cup of tea and clears his throat. "So you've been sparking again, but only recently."

"Yes," Enjolras sighs uncomfortably.

"And it happens at random?" Combeferre asks, in as neutral a tone of voice as he can command.

"Mostly when I'm outside luckily," he replies.

Combeferre’s mouth twitches. "Could I suggest a possible reason?" he asks, trying very hard to keep from smiling.

"Please!" Enjolras says without hesitation. "Your advice usually helps a lot."

"Let me just test something," Combeferre says. He reconsiders and adds: "Would you mind standing over the sink while I do?"

Obediently Enjolras comes to stand by the sink, lowering his head a little just in case.

Combeferre leans on the counter thoughtfully, waits for a moment and then says nonchalantly: "So, tell me about Grantaire."

"What about him?" A veritable shower of sparks lands in the sink. "Oh!" Enjolras gasps and then, turning to Combeferre with a look of mild horror and great embarrassment: " _Oh_..."

"Well," Combeferre laughs and he hands Enjolras his tea. He had rather suspected his friend was a little more fond of the selkie than he was letting on, but he hadn’t counted on it having this kind of effect. It makes a certain amount of sense though. Dragon fire is very much tied to emotion and emotions are rather hard to control if you haven’t realised your having them yet. Which, judging from Enjolras face, seems to have been the case here. "Why don’t we go sit outside for a while?” he suggests smilingly. “You don't have to tell me about Grantaire of course, but I have been told talking often helps to...sort things out."

Enjolras swallows, cheeks as red as the smattering of scales under his eyes. "Uh, yeah," he says unsteadily. "Yeah… That sounds good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 has now caught up with Tumblr and I will try to upload here as soon as I upload something there :)
> 
> (But do check out the [For Love of Lore](https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com/tagged/for+love+of+lore%20) tag on my tumblr if you want to see gorgeous art and some background info!)


	4. Water, willows and warmth

Joly likes to travel and they are particularly fond of meeting new people. The merrows that inhabit the sea around here are rather old-fashioned though. They only go up the surface when there is a storm on the water and they hardly ever approach the shore. Joly had to ask his new friend Grantaire if there was any convenient river he could use to swim further inland. Luckily there was and now Joly is happily swimming upstream. They like the feeling of freshwater on their skin, even if the salt being rinsed from their hair always makes it stand on end in odd ways. Besides, there are certain things to be found on land that cannot be got from the sea. Today, for instance, Joly is in quest of willow bark. When it comes to remedies against pain there really is no substitute.

Joly is taking their time though, allowing themself to enjoy the scenery as they swim steadily against the flow of the river. With only their head just above the water they look no different from a human out for a swim, at least to a casual observer. Not that Joly has a particular reason to fear being discovered. He has learned from Grantaire that most of the humans around here are open minded and that those that are not have by now learned to look the other way. In any case there is no one walking near the river today and Joly swims in unhurried tranquillity until they follow a bend in the river and spot a gorgeous willow tree. Joyfully they give a strong swish of their tail and swim to the grassy bank. The drooping branches of the willow nearly reach the water, casting a cool shadow across the rippling stream, but the tree itself is out of Joly’s reach. Admiringly they look up at the elegant braches.

“I’ve never seen a mermaid so interested in a tree.”

Joly splashes their tail in surprise. The voice came from above them!

“I’m sorry,” they say politely. “I can’t see you at the moment so I don’t know where to look, but yes I’m very interested in this tree!”

“Why?

"It’s very beautiful for a start,” Joly says pleasantly, peering into the tree. They are certain whoever is speaking must be hidden there. “But I’m also hoping to collect some bark for its medicinal purposes.”

“Hmm…” The voice is pleasant, but a little wary. “Well, at least you’re nice about it.” A rustling passes through the leaves of the willow and suddenly Joly sees as shape on one of the sturdier, low hanging branches, that stretches out towards the river. A moment ago there was nothing there, but now there is a young woman draped across the branch, hair cascading down just like the willow’s leafy twigs. She is dressed in leaves and her slender arms and legs blend in perfectly against the willow bark.

Joly is delighted. They have never met a woodsprite before.

“Hello,” the woodsprite smiles and she studies them with large, expressive eyes. “ _Are_ you a mermaid?” she asks after a moment. “You don’t look like a merrow…”

“No,” Joly smiles. “I’m a jiaoren, but I must be closely related to both. My name is Joly.”

“Mine’s Musichetta,” she answers and with an elegant movement she slides off the branch and let’s herself drop down between the roots of her tree.

She is rather close now and Joly can clearly see how beautiful she is. “Nice to meet you,” he smiles.

She smiles back, slowly steps away from her tree towards the water’s edge, and extends a small hand. Joly takes it in his webbed one and shakes it with another smile. As soon as they let go Musichetta returns to her tree. But she drapes herself across the branch again, looking down on Joly curiously. “What do you need the bark for?” she asks. “Do you need to cure someone?”

Joly shakes their head. “At the moment I only want to study it. I’ve heard a lot about its effectiveness against pain and inflammation.”

“You do that a lot,” she asks interestedly. “Go around studying healing things?”

“Yes,” Joly says cheerfully. They’re not really used to being asked this many questions, but they’re more than happy to talk. “It’s one of the reasons why I travel.”

“Where do you come from then?” she asks with another curious glance at his face.

“The South Sea by China,” he smiles.

Her eyes spark with delight. “Tell you what,” she says. “I will give you some bark from my tree if you tell me about your travels.”

To talk about themself to someone genuinely interested in them seems hardly a trade to Joly, but when they laughingly tell her this Musichetta says:

“Who says deals should be disagreeable? I’ve never made a single deal that didn’t please me.”

Joly smiles at the sparkle in her eyes and finds a seat for themself on the river bank. “What do you want to know?” they ask.

It turns out Musichetta wants to know a great deal. Far too much to tell in one conversation. So Joly comes back the next day, and the next day, and again a couple of day later. It was never really Joly’s intention to stay in this part of the world, but they are seriously considering it now. It’s not just Musichetta, although Joly has to admit they have quite lost their head over her, this place has a lot to recommend itself. Grantaire is very good company and he has introduced Joly to a fellow selkie called Éponine. Joly has even met a young vampire called Combeferre, who has a lot of very interesting knowledge to share. All in all Joly is certainly tempted to stay and when the weeks pass and Musichetta’s smiles turn to kisses they decide there really isn’t any other place they’d rather travel to than upstream to her tree.

They go there almost every other day, usually when the sun is at its highest in the sky so Musichetta knows to expect them. Today Joly is running late, so they are swimming fast, fully submerged in the water. They could find their way through this river blindly by now and they know they are reaching the bend in which Musichetta’s tree stands without looking.

Just as Joly is about to surface they hear a voice. Cautiously they peer up through the shimmering of the water’s surface. Musichetta sings to herself sometimes, but this voice does not belong to her. It sounds unhurried and nonthreatening though, so Joly slowly lets their head rise above the water. They are greeted with the familiar view of Musichetta, hanging draped across the lowest branch of her willow, but lying beneath it is a stranger. He is lounging stretched out in the grass, leaning back elegantly on his elbows, and looks up at Musichetta with such a look of admiration that Joly feels a pang of jealousy. The stranger’s looks do not help them one bit. Had he been scowling he would barely have been handsome, but he has as attractive a smile as Joly has ever seen and it is unclear to them whether it is the sun or his good humour that gives such a glow to his dark brown skin. With very conflicted feelings they swim a little closer.

“What a fine day,” the merry stranger smiles at Musichetta. “It started with me getting lost, but what a lovely place to be lost in.” His eyes twinkle. “And what excellent company.”

“I’m not quite sure what suits you more, your lounging or your idle flattery,” Musichetta remarks challengingly from her branch.

“You have seen me lounge,” the stranger smiles. “But you have not even heard my idle flattery. So far I have spoken only the truth.”

Joly bristles slightly at that, especially since Musichetta is clearly rather charmed by him. They don’t exactly blame her, but it does give them a strange disgruntled feeling they have never really felt before.

“Really,” the stranger continues. “Between, the sun, the grass and your eyes fixed on me I’m beginning to think myself the luckiest creature in this meadow.”

Musichetta laughs with a slight scoff in her voice. Just the sound of her laugh is enough to make Joly decide that not even the uncomfortable feelings in their midriff are enough of a reason to give up spending the afternoon with Musichetta. They give a splash of their tail to announce their presence and swim to the riverbank.

“Joly!” Musichetta exclaims, sitting up on her branch.

The stranger turns his head, still smiling, and sees Joly. “ _Well_ ,” he says with a look of unrestrained admiration. "If this isn't unequivocal proof of my luck today, I don't know what else could possibly convince me."

Jiaoren do not blush, but Joly would have if they did. “Hello,” they say, still a little reserved.

“Joly, darling,” Musichetta chimes. “This is Bossuet.”

“Joly,” they nod.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bossuet says brightly. “ _Really_.” He looks from Musichetta to Joly and sits up a little straighter. “Oh, I’m sorry! Am I interrupting a scheduled meeting?”

“You are actually,” Musichetta says, throwing a glance at Joly.

Bossuet jumps to his feet. “And here I am talking away at you both.” He shakes his head. “Forgive me.” He laughs at them both by turn and Joly is seriously wondering if it is even possible to feel resentment towards someone that radiates so much cheerfulness. They _like_ Bossuet. They hardly know him and they like him.

“I will leave this lovely meadow to you lovely creatures,” Bossuet sighs. “And take myself elsewhere.”

Joly glances at Musichetta, who gives them a look that seems to say: we could keep him?

“You can stay,” they say, lifting themself out of the water to sit on the riverbank.

Bossuet looks delighted. Musichetta smiles.

“You have to trade something though,” Joly says, slanting their head playfully and shooting a twinkling look up at Musichetta.

“Oh yes,” she agrees. “We’re very big on trades.”

Bossuet pats the pockets of his colourful suit. It’s a fine suit, but badly cared for, its rumpled and full of grass stains. “I don’t have a lot to give,” he laughs. “But ask whatever you want, if I have it I’ll give it.”

Joly grins. “Do you know any good stories?”

Bossuet gives him a look that feels warmer than the noon sun. “So many.”

“Are any of them about yourself?” Joly smiles.

“Only the tragically comedic ones,” Bossuet quips.

“Oh do tell,” Musichetta invites, letting her arms dangle down on either side of her branch.

“Yes,” Joly smiles warmly. “Please do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bossuet is a gancanagh, a type of fae that does very little besides lounge about and talk pretty. It suits his sunny, carefree personality I think.
> 
> Joly is a jiaoren, because I thought it would be instresting to make him a Chinese mermaid (https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com/post/165321645691/joly-the-mermaid)
> 
> And Musichetta is a woodsprite because they are beautiful and powerful and can just dissapear into a tree when they don't feel like putting up with your shit <3


	5. On selkie linguistics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, still haven't figured out this title thing...

“Is Grantaire your real name?”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows at Enjolras. “What do you mean?”

“Is it the proper pronunciation I mean,” Enjolras says seriously. “I’ve heard you speak selkie with Éponine, is your name originally in selkie?”

“Selkie isn’t exactly a language,” Grantaire grins. “We speak seal or human. We’re all multilingual.”

“Can’t you speak human when you’re in seal form?” Enjolras asks curiously.

“We can,” Grantaire shrugs. “But it’s hard and the sounds don’t carry well under water.”

“But as a pup you can’t transform yet,” Enjolras points out. “So your name must be in selkie- I mean seal.”

Grantaire gives Enjolras a bemused expression. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Enjolras says hastily. “I just, I want to make sure I am getting your name right. It’s important. Names are important.”

Grantaire smiles. Why does Enjolras always get so worked up over details? “Most of my friends call me R,” he says. “That’s a little closer to what I was called as a pup.”

“Just R?” Enjolras asks with a slight frown.

“No,” Grantaire says, grinning at his insistence. “More like _R_.” Seal sounds sound unnatural coming from a human mouth and Grantaire laughs at the surprise on Enjolras’ face.

“That’s your name?” he says. “I’ve heard Matéo and Judoc yelling that.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire sighs. “They like to wear it out.”

Enjolras moves his lips silently, frowning slightly. “So your name is _R_ ,” he tries.

Grantaire splutters with amusement. “Oh man,” he laughs. “Do that again!”

“What?” Enjolras protests. “That’s what you just said. Did I do it wrong?”

“You _purred_ ,” Grantaire snorts. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

“I did not,” Enjolras huffs. “You made a sound at the back of your throat, so did I!”

“Yes but I didn’t roll it!” Grantaire cries, he’s swallows his laughter, because Enjolras is starting to look rather defensive. “It was closer though,” he says encouragingly. “To my name in seal. You’ll probably get it if you keep trying.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to do it again,” Enjolras say accusingly, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not,” Grantaire says innocently. “Honest.”

“You’re a bad liar, _R_ ,” Enjolras says smilingly.

Grantaire bites his lip to hold in his laughter. “ _Stars_ , you’re-” He swallows the word ‘cute’. He shakes his head. “Dragons purr, that is the best thing I’ve ever learned.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras chides and he gives him a friendly shove.

“Wait,” Grantaire says, eyes opening wide in delight. “Is there a dragon language? Does your name sound different in that too? Does it consists only of purring?”

“I was raised and named by _humans_ ,” Enjolras reminds him with another huff. “And _no_ it doesn’t.”

“Prove it,” Grantaire grins. Teasing is easy, teasing is safe.

“No,” Enjolras refuses, trying not to laugh.

“Aw,” he whines. “Come on…”

“ _No_.”

“Hey Enj,” Grantaire says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Talk dragon to me.”

Enjolras chokes and spits out a cloud of sparks.

Grantaire bursts out laughing and Enjolras uses his lapse in attention to actually push him off his rock this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels very weird to post super short pieces like this on AO3, but some of you guys really only read here and I don't want you to miss out either...  
> Next piece will be longer!


	6. Those that roam in the mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I was keeping Jehanparnasse out of For Love of Lore. This was inspired by a lovely comment from UndertaleScienceNerd and a very excited conversation with my sister! 
> 
> Whoops this is 2.3k, my bias is showing.

Grantaire is sick and tired of Montparnasse’s antics. “Dude,” he growls after dragging yet another panicked young man safely ashore. “That is the _third_ time this week.”

Montparnasse grins, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. He is sitting on one of Grantaire’s favourite rocks in his human form, black clothes wet against his pale skin. “You don’t _have_ to rescue them.”

“I like my sea free of screaming humans, thanks,” Grantaire snarks.

Montparnasse shrugs and says smugly: “I did that guy a favour, that suit deserved to be ruined.”

Grantaire groans and lets himself all back onto the flat rock. Every single damn time someone is stupid enough to climb on Montparnasse’s back, mistaking the kelpie for a normal horse, he gallops straight into the sea with them. He doesn’t actually hurt then, he just leaves them there to splash around. Some of them manage to swim back to the shore but most of them need help. Help that usually takes the form of a very annoyed Grantaire.

“Seriously, Parnasse,” he complains. “Give it a rest for a week.”

“I would, but they make it so easy,” Montparnasse grins. He slides into the water, turning back to his horse form as he goes. The silky fabric of his seamless clothes melts into his skin and a moment later a beautiful black horse raises his head up above the waves. He lets out a triumphant whinny and disappears in the dark water.

Grantaire watches him go with resentfully narrowed eyes. Then, suddenly his frown changes to a grins. Montparnasse deserves to be taught a lesson. There’s no way Grantaire will be able to trick him, they’ve known each other since they were pup and colt, but Grantaire knows _exactly_ who he should ask for help.

.

“You want me to get captured by your friend?” Jehan laughs. “Why?”

“Because you look pretty and harmless and because I _really_ want Montparnasse to be the one screaming in shock for once.”

Jehan laughs, the flames of their hair dancing around their face. “What makes you think he’ll fall for it?” they ask. “Won’t he feel something?”

Grantaire shakes his head. He’s sitting on an old gravestone, wrapped loosely in his pelt. Jehan is floating beside him, gently going up and down with the lazily swirling mist. They’re a dwaallicht, a wisp, or whatever else humans chose to call the beautiful lights that dance in the mist after dark.

“Your human form is too convincing,” Grantaire says. “And Montparnasse doesn’t pay too much attention when he’s out on a power trip.”

Jehan hums and Grantaire waits for them to make up their mind. Traditionally wisps use their light to lure travellers off their path, into the treacherous marshes or into the graveyards that should be left alone at night. Jehan doesn’t do that sort of stuff, but that does not mean they weren’t born with a spark of mischief. “Alright,” they giggle. “Why not!”

“You’re the best,” Grantaire grins.

Jehan twinkles their eyes at him and the mist swirls thicker and thicker around them.

“Um, Jehan,” Grantaire says. “Could you tone that down a little?” He raises a hand to shield his eyes. Jehan is shining so bright he can barely make out their shape anymore.

“Oh, sorry,” they fluster and Jehan lowers their feet towards the ground. Slowly their light dims and they wrap their fire around them like a cloak. It shines and gleams like their hair, but they no longer burn like they did a moment ago. “Better?” they ask with a smile.

“Much, thanks,” Grantaire nods.

Jehan doesn’t look quite human yet, their hair still moves like flickering flames and the light in their eyes is bright as sparks, but if they want to they can disguise themself near flawlessly. “I’ll have to borrow some human clothes,” they say happily, looking down at their light-woven garment.

Grantaire chuckles. Jehan has a tendency to ‘borrow’ clothes that strike their fancy from people’s clotheslines. Their taste is…interesting. “I was kind of hoping you’d do that,” he grins.

.

It’s a perfect night for a gallop along the beach. The moon is a sharp sliver in the sky, mist is rising thickly from the water and rolling into the shore in an echo of the sea’s waves. Montparnasse trots along the seabed, steadily moving into shallow waters. The seafoam slides slick off his back as he surfaces, trampling the wet pebbles under his hooves. Proudly he tosses his manes in the night air. Not even the night is as gleaming black as he is. As he leaves the waves behind his hooves move faster up and Montparnasse speeds along the coastline, glorying in the feeling of utter freedom.

Suddenly his ears twitch. Something is walking ahead of him on the beach. Something with two feet and loud, human footsteps. He slows to a trot. This’ll be fun. It takes only a couple strides before Montparnasse sees the rambler. They’re lit by the light of the moon and the stars and wandering aimlessly through the mist. How foolish of them. Montparnasse slows down some more. He doesn’t want to frighten them. Not yet.

The person holds still when they see him and make a delighted sound. Montparnasse scrapes his hoof in amusement. Humans are stupidly fond of horses.

The rambler has extended their hand and is making the silly little sounds humans make to encourage animals to come to them. Montparnasse approach them calmly. They’re a slight little thing, pretty, but wrapped in a horrible dress several sizes too big.

“Come then,” they coo. “Don’t be scared.”

Montparnasse represses a laugh, but then the human moves forward unexpectedly and gently places a hand on his forehead. Their hand is surprisingly warm for such a cold night and Montparnasse suddenly finds himself staring into two amber eyes.

“You’re beautiful…” the rambler whispers and for a moment Montparnasse is actually thrown.

He’s used to this and yet… He bows his head slightly.

“Oh? Can I ride you?” they ask delightedly.

Montparnasse bends their neck a little more. Old habits die hard. Pretty eyes are not enough to drive the mischief out of him.

To his surprise his victim doesn’t fidget or fumble once. They confidently rest their warm hands on his withers and with a light, near effortless movement they jump on his back. They clearly think they know how to ride. Montparnasse will show them differently.

As soon as he feels their weight settle onto him, he bolts. His new rider screams, but before Montparnasse can buck to scare them even more, he hears that these aren’t screams of fear. They’re screams of laughter. No one has _ever_ laughed while he ran away with them. Does this human still not realise they are in danger? They aren’t trying to jump off his back, nor are they clinging to him for fear of falling. They’re just…riding. Montparnasse leaps forward. He will show them what he is about to do, _then_ they will be scared. As soon as he turns towards the sea, however, the mist suddenly thickens around him. Montparnasse can’t see.

He slows down immediately. He can _always_ see. The mist is his best cover. He hides in it, it doesn’t _hinder_ him. But there’s a glow to the mist he’s never seen before. It’s dazzling him, it’s disorienting. The rider on his back feels warm and almost weightless and as Montparnasse hears their laugh again, he spits out a curse.

“What are you?” he roars, human voice rough in his animal throat.

Two slender arms wrap warmly around his neck and a sweet voice whispers just beside his ear: “I’m Jehan.”

In the single moment it takes them to answer the fog lifts ever so slightly and Montparnasse catches a whiff of the sea. He launches straight into a gallop and charges into the waves. Jehan screams. Mont doesn’t know whether it’s from fear or amusement and he doesn’t care, in the sea he is stronger than on land and whatever Jehan is, they are going in with him. Just before he feels the water closing in around him, however, he feels Jehans arms unwrap from around his neck. Wildly he turns around, just in time to see Jehan plant their feet on a swirl of mist. The water does not touch them and as they spread their arms and begin to shimmer Montparnasse realises what they are. He tried to lure a _wisp_ into the _sea_. He gawks at them, dumbfounded.

“Grantaire says hi,” Jehan laughs, their hair swirling upward like fire, their light nearly burning through their ill-fitting human clothes. They’re so bright it’s almost blinding.

Wait, did they say Grantaire? _Grantaire_ knows this wisp? Montparnasse couldn’t care less about the prank, he can’t believe Grantaire hid from him that he knew someone like _this_. Someone that would climb willingly onto a kelpie’s back, someone made of living fire, someone made of flame that dares to dance on the water, someone so…

Jehan shines laughingly down on him and they dance backwards, away from him, back to the shore. “Thank you for the ride,” they singsong. “You’re very beautiful.”

Montparnasse stares into their eyes and moves towards them instinctually. He’ll show them beautiful. As Jehan retreats back onto the shore, Montparnasse follows. His hooves turn to feet as he moves upright. Moonlight gleams on pale skin and black silk dries instantly on his slender frame.

Jehan stares at him, feet not touching the cobbles, hair, skin and eyes full of light. “Oh…” they breathe as Montparnasse walks out of the sea. “Oh you’re so dark…”

Montparnasse smiles. “You’re so bright…”

They stare at each other and for a moment Montparnasse loses all sense of time. Then a spark lights up in Jehan’s eyes and they run. Firelight flares up in the night and Jehan darts away as a dancing streak of light. The heavy fabric of the borrowed dress falls uselessly to the ground and the last fold has barely fallen before Montparnasse leaps over it. When his feet hit the ground they are hooves again and he _chases_. Jehan isn’t fleeing, they’re luring. They want him to follow. The bright flash of their laughter rings out and Montparnasse catches a glimpse of them looking back at him, their face like a flame. He knows he’ll never catch them. No one ever catches a wisp. The mist rolls around them both, turning Montparnasse into nothing but shadow and Jehan into nothing but light. Again Jehan looks back, but this time Montparnasse can see their eyes. A moment later he sees hair flying wildly in the wind and there’s the sudden sound of feet running on the cobbles.

With a laugh Montparnasse sheds his animal form. Fair is fair. Feet should be chased by feet.

Jehan’s laugh sounds more human now and Montparnasse is gaining on them. His blood is boiling within him. He has never chased anyone like this.

The mist ripples, Jehan spins round and Montparnasse stops just in time, right in front of them. They stare at each other, out of breath and hearts racing.

“I’m Montparnasse,” Montparnasse says finally.

“I know,” they say, brilliant eyes fixed on him as if they’re never going to look away. “No one can ever keep up with me,” Jehan whispers.

“You let me catch you,” Montparnasse points out.

“You kept up tough…” Jehan says, face shining.

Montparnasse smiles and there’s no teeth gleaming in the starlight this time. He’s genuinely smiling. Jehan is…something.

The expression on Jehan’s face is almost shy, but it’s too full of fire to be so. “If I run again, will you chase me again?”

Montparnasse lowers his head ever so slightly and changes his smile to a grin. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Jehan shimmers apologetically and shyly winds a flaming lock around their finger. “He’s very…um…I like him.”

“So do I!” Grantaire cries and the fact that he just said that out loud speaks to his bewilderment. “That doesn’t mean I want to spend the night dancing around the cliffs with him!”

Jehan flushes happily. “I’m going to see him again tonight.”

“Of course you are,” Grantaire groans. He looks at the grey light of dawn appearing on the horizon. “You better get going,” he sighs. If Jehan gets caught in the daylight they are stuck in their human form until they are in darkness again.

“Oh, yes!” Jehan says, jumping to their feet. “See you, R!” They turn around with a  smile. “And thank you…”

“What am I, a matchmaker?” Grantaire grumbles.

“Yes,” Jehan says cheerfully and they press a tingling kiss on his cheek. In the blink of an eye they turn to a spark that flits away in the last remnants of the morning mist.

Grantaire watches them go with a slight smile on his face. He has never seen Jehans quite so…giddy before. His smile cools a little and with a sudden energy he walks back towards the sea. He wraps his pelt around him and dives into the water, swimming straight to cave Montparnasse calls home.

He finds his friend asleep in his human form.

“Tired, hm?” Grantaire says, prodding him awake.

Montparnasse snarls, but grins when he looks up into Grantaire’s face. “Trying to teach me a lesson, were you,” he smirks, voice still sleepy. “Should have thought that one through, R.”

“You fell for it though,” Grantaire reminds him smugly.

Montparnasse folds his hands behind his head. “And I was amply rewarded for my mistake,” he smirks.

Grantaire scoffs, but then, just for a moment, he narrows his eyes. “You hurt Jehan and I’ll get a smith to shoe you.” There’s pleasantry in his tone of voice, but gravity at its core.

Montparnasse eyes fix on him silently for an instant, just long enough to acknowledge the threat. Then he grins again. “I’ll tell Jehan you’re mean to me,” he smirks.

“Oh,” Grantaire grins. “Don’t think you’ve got the upper hand on me now, pretty pony. Jehan is my friend and they like to _talk_.” He lets his grin widen. “Apparently you sing?”

The smirk slides abruptly off Montparnasse’s face and the cave fills with the sound of Grantaire’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I wasn't planning the fire and water romance ever since the first chapter you are wrong <3


	7. A Fairy Tale Refusal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, it’s not what it sounds like. You shall all have your dragon-selkie kisses!   
> As particularly requested by Débora, my darling sister, and In-love-and-liberty.
> 
> (I thought the Jehanparnasse one was bad, this one turned into 6.6k!)

It is a very clear night and the stars are out in all their splendour. Combeferre and Enjolras are gazing up at them from where they are sitting on the roof of Enjolras’ house. (Well, technically it is his parents’ house, but they try to treat him as an equal resident now. It is a little difficult that, being eighteen years old, he is no longer a child as a human, but still very young as a dragon. The three of them are usually in agreement, however, and even more so since moving here.)

“I like nights like this,” Enjolras sighs. “The air is soft.”

“It is,” Combeferre agrees. Cold does not sting like it did when he was still alive, but he still prefers more moderate temperatures.

Enjolras smiles at the stars and hugs his knees. He is not afraid of falling, but being on the roof, so close to the sky, makes him think of wings.

“So…” Combeferre suddenly hums beside him. “How are things with the…dragon fire situation?”

Enjolras is glad it is too dark for his friend to see his face. He clears his throat. “Good,” he says. “I’ve got it under control now.” That is true. Mostly anyway.

“That is good,” Combeferre nods.

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, relieved. “And Grantaire doesn’t seem to have noticed. So it’s all fine.”

There is a hesitant silence. “You haven’t talked to him then…” Combeferre asks.

Enjolras feels his face glow even hotter. “No,” he mutters. He can feel Combeferre glancing at him.

“Because you don’t want to, or…?”

It’s an honest question, but it makes Enjolras squirm. He does want to talk to Grantaire. Of course he does. But he doesn’t know what to say. And Grantaire might not feel the same way. Grantaire _probably_ doesn’t feel the same way. They haven’t known each other for that long and- “I will talk to him,” he says hastily, before Combeferre can begin to interpret his silence. “Just…not yet.”

“Alright,” Combeferre says kindly. “Just as long as you’re sure.”

Enjolras nods. He is sure. Because every time he almost talks to Grantaire about the glowing feelings in his chest he can taste the sparks at the back of his throat and he has to swallow the words for fear of spitting fire. He needs to stop being so _silly_. He needs to keep a hold of himself. If he can do that, everything will be fine.

.

Grantaire and Éponine are strolling along the beach, just close enough to the water to let the occasional wave wash over their bare feet. It’s a funny feeling, water feels strange on feet, feet are meant for dry land. Azelma and Gavroche are splashing in the waves, trying to teach their little brothers to show their human faces. So far they’re not making a lot of progress. Grantaire is about to ask Éponine at what age she learnt to take off her pelt, when he sees something lying on the beach.

“Hey,” he says, frowning. “Isn’t that Enjolras’?”

Éponine squints at the flip flop. “I don’t know, R, but if you say it is I believe you.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes and goes to pick it up. It _is_ Enjolras’, he’s sure. “Weird,” he says.

“Maybe he left it here for you to find,” Éponine teases. “Maybe you should leave your pelt lying around.”

“Shut up,” Grantaire grunts. He really can’t imagine how Enjolras would accidentally leave wearing only one flip flop though. Losing both would have made more sense.

“It’s not going to bite you,” Éponine says, laughing at the way he holds it. “Anyway, you can give it back to him when he comes to visit.”

“He didn’t say he was coming over today,” Grantaire mutters, walking on with the flip flop hooked around his finger.

Éponine looks sceptical, but instead of saying something snarky she says: “You go visit him then.”

Grantaire shakes his head. He has done that a couple of times, he’s even got clothes stashed away nowadays so he can go into town more easily. But he’s still nervous about imposing on Enjolras. When Enjolras comes to the beach at least Grantaire is sure that his company is wanted.

“Seriously, R,” Éponine breaks into his thoughts with a gentle tone of voice she usually reserves for her siblings. “Why don’t you just go talk to him, who knows what might happen.”

Grantaire feels his stomach churn. It’s not that he hasn’t considered it, it’s just that he’s absolutely certain he’ll mess it up somehow and that is _not_ happening. He knows it’s a low blow, but he retorts: “I could tell you the same thing.”

Éponine flushes, but stands her ground. “That’s a different situation,” she protests.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “The difference being you stand much more of a chance.”

She opens her mouth to argue but Grantaire shakes his head. With a sigh she lowers her shoulders in a reversed shrug. “Okay,” she sighs.

They walk on in silence, probably thinking about broadly the same things. Grantaire for one is carefully storing the idea of talking to Enjolras about his feelings and the wonderful possibility of having them returned far, far away where they belong. If Enjolras _does_ come by today, he doesn’t need those thoughts anywhere near the surface. He’ll get distracted again and forget to actually reply when he’s listening to him talk. He just needs to keep a hold of himself. If he can do that, everything will be fine.

.

Enjolras doesn’t know where to _look_. Right now he has to choose between looking at Grantaire’s face and staring at the recently returned flip flop in his hand. He really wishes he had brought a bag or something then he could at least put the damn thing away. It’s too big to fit in his pocket and he put on a new pair when he could only find one of his old ones this morning. He doesn’t even remember losing it! But the point is not that he lost it, the point is that Grantaire found it and is now giving it back to him like it’s no big deal whatsoever.

“You okay?” Grantaire asks.

“Yeah, fine,” Enjolras says hastily. “I just wonder how I could have lost it, you know?”

Grantaire shrugs and laughs. “A better question is how you walked all the way home without missing it.”

That is an excellent point and Enjolras does not know what to say to it. Luckily Grantaire is already moving on.

“I meant to ask you,” he says. “You said you wanted to meet more people… The merrows say that next new moon will be a proper spring tide. Stormy weather and everything. So if you want to see a proper seashore party…”

Enjolras straightens up. “Really? I could come to that? It wouldn’t be an intrusion?” Spring tide is when the waves are at their wildest. Enjolras knows there are merrows and mermaids in these waters, but he has never seen them. They do not come ashore like selkies do. But during a new moon storm they would come to the surface for sure.

“Of course not,” Grantaire grins. “You’re not human, anyway. And if you’re nervous about not knowing anyone apart from us selkies I’ll introduce you to Joly beforehand. You’ll like them, I’m sure.”

Enjolras nods eagerly. “That would be great.” He’s wasn’t nervous about not knowing people, but Grantaire has mentioned Joly several times now and they sound like great company. He’d love to meet them. “What do you guys do at spring tide then?” he asks.

Grantaire grins a little wider and starts talking. Enjolras listens, tucking the flip flop in his back pocket as far as it will go. Grantaire clearly doesn’t suspect anything, so he should try to forget about it too. He’ll pay more attention when walking on the beach from now on. He won’t let something like this happen again.

.

“You invited Enjolras to spring tide?” Jehan says happily. “That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah,” Grantaire nods. “I thought he’d like to see it. Should be cool.”

Jehan looks a little puzzled. Not that Grantaire can be quite sure of what their expression is, as they are currently floating upside down. “So he’s coming, but you’re not going…together?” they ask.

“I’m already here,” Grantaire points out. “If you’re suggesting I should pick him up at his house, I am _way_ too lazy for that.”

Jehan turns upright. “No,” they say. “No, that makes sense.” Just before their smile reappears on their face Grantaire can’t help but think they look a little disappointed, but he can’t imagine why.

“I won’t leave him on his own or anything, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he says.

“Good,” Jehan says brightly. “I know I’ll be clinging to Parnasse all night.”

“You do that anyway,” Grantaire says with a snort.

“Not at all,” Jehan grins. “Sometimes he clings to _me_.” They sigh happily. “I’ve only ever seen the spring tide from a distance.”

Grantaire nods. “As long as you’re careful,” he says.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try to swim,” Jehan winks. They hum thoughtfully. “Enjolras doesn’t mind water, does he?”

“He’s a dragon,” Grantaire says. “I think the only thing he ever minds is being cold.”

“Can he even get cold?” Jehan asks curiously.

“I don’t think so,” Grantaire hums. One corner of his mouth quirks up. “But he sure does complain about it a lot.” His voice sounds just a little too fond, so he quickly changes the subject.

.

“Could you help me for a moment, Ange?”

Enjolras looks up from his book distractedly. He wasn’t reading anyway. He keeps thinking about that damn flip flop. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “What did you ask?”

His mother gestures to a box on top of a cupboard. “Could you get that down for me?”

“Sure,” he puts his book aside and lifts the box down. Enjolras is taller than both his parents, has been since he was fifteen.

“Thank you, darling,” his mother smiles.

“What’s in this anyway?” Enjolras asks, putting the box down on the table.

“I don’t know, that’s why I wanted to look at it,” she replies. “It’s one of the last ‘all sorts’-boxes left over from the move.”

Enjolras hums and looks past his mother’s hands while she opens the box. His eye falls on a small wooden box. “You _kept_ that?” he gasps.

His mother laughs and gives him a guilty smile. “Oh, honey, it was your first hoard, of course I kept it.”

“I stopped hoarding buttons when I was six!” Enjolras reminds her, fishing the box out from between the mishmash of things.

“I’m a parent, I’m allowed to be sentimental,” she defends herself.

Enjolras laughingly shakes his head and opens the little chest. It’s full of random buttons. Some of them have tarnished, but most of them are still shiny. He hasn’t seen these trinkets in years, he didn’t even know they were still around, but looking at them he still gets the warm feeling of possession in his chest. It’s dragonish, he can’t help it, no matter how he tries sometimes.

“You stole that off your cousin Deb’s coat,” his mother laughs, pointing at a big brass button.

“I did not,” Enjolras contradicts. “It fell off. Wasn’t sewn on properly.”

She gives him a loving nudge in reply and continues unpacking the box.

Enjolras takes the box of buttons to the window and shakes it gently. The buttons clink and shine in the sunlight. They’re still pretty. Even as a child he knew what other people called valuable had very little to do with actual value…

“Oh, look at this, your father will be glad to have this back,” his mother exclaims over by the table.

“Did you find his garden diary?” Enjolras asks, putting the box down on the windowsill and walking over to her.

“No, but that might be in here too actually!” she hums.

Suddenly there is a flutter of wings behind them. Enjolras turns around just in time to see a large magpie land on the windowsill and peck into the button box.

Enjolras moves fast, but the bird is faster. Before he can do anything it makes off with a large, gold button and sails triumphantly out of reach of Enjolras’ grasping hands. Actual fire escapes from his mouth, along with a curse that would have made his mother scold him if she wasn’t so baffled by what just happened.

Enjolras presses his lips into a thin line and swallows hard. There’s a tight feeling in his chest and he wishes he was still unaware that the button hoard still existed. Because now he knows it exists and he also knows there’s a piece missing. _Stolen_. A piece of his hoard was _stolen_. With clenched teeth he snatches the wooden box from the windowsill and closes it. That doesn’t help. He knows what the missing button looks like. He knows where it should be and he knows it isn’t there. He tries to remind himself they’re just buttons. That doesn’t help either, because he knew that all along. That isn’t the point. The point is that they were _his_.

“I’m sorry, darling,” his mother says earnestly.

He nods stiffly, but then makes an effort to take a deep breath. He’s not ever going to get that button back so he better start letting it go.

.

Grantaire agrees that it’s rather unusual to find a gold button in a fish, but he hadn’t expected Enjolras to be _quite_ so astonished. He is literally staring at him open-mouthed.

“You can have it if you like it that much,” Grantaire laughs.

“No-” Enjolras says. “I mean yes, I mean that’s mine!”

“The button?” Grantaire says confusedly.

“Yes!” he exclaims. “I was sorting through some stuff with my mother and a magpie came in through the _window_ and snatched it.” He laughs like he can’t really believe it himself. “It’s stupid, but- This button is part of- I was sad to lose it.”

“Well,” Grantaire grins. “It’s not lost anymore.” He drops the button in Enjolras’ hand.

He closes his fingers around it and definitely looks way too happy about having a button returned to him. Grantaire isn’t about to question it, because Enjolras suddenly throws his arms around him and _hugs_ him. He hardly hugs him back from sheer surprise.

“Sorry,” Enjolras blurts, letting go of him.

“No need,” Grantaire says hastily.

“About the button I mean,” Enjolras says, strangely avoiding to look at him. “And the fish! I…I’m going to run home real quick and put this back with the others.” He’s still holding on to the button like he’s afraid to lose it again.

Grantaire really wants to ask what others, but he doesn’t get the chance. Enjolras has already gotten to his feet.

“I’ll be back!” he says. “Just...see you in a bit.”

Grantaire has never seen him this…he’s not even sure what this is. Incoherent is the only word that comes to mind. Well, in any case he’s really glad he found that button. He watches Enjolras hurry across the beach with a smile on his face. He doesn’t even look up when there’s a sloshing sound behind him.

“What was that all about?” Montparnasse asks, sitting down beside him.

“Nothing,” Grantaire says. “I just found something of his that he lost.”

Montparnasse runs a hand through his wet hair. “What, again?”

“What do you mean again?” Grantaire asks, reluctantly looking away from Enjolras’ retreating form.

Montparnasse raises an eyebrow. “The slipper.”

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire hums. “His flip flop, well. This was weirder actually. A fish I caught had a button in his mouth. Shiny, gold-looking thing. Turns out it belongs to him. He and his mother were unpacking some stuff when a bird snatched it.”

Montparnasse’s eyes are fixed on him in some odd sort of frustration. “Really,” he says slowly. “A fish you caught, swallowed a _button_ that was snatched from Enjolras by a _bird_.”

“Yeah, weird, hm?” Grantaire shrugs.

Montparnasse gives him an exasperated look and abruptly turns back to the sea. “I’m leaving,” he announces and marches back into the water.

“Alright then,” Grantaire says. “Moody today, are we?”

His friend gives no reply other than something that sounds like a half-swallowed sound of contempt.

“I love you too,” Grantaire calls after him and he goes back to watching the spot where Enjolras disappeared. He said he’d come right back. Grantaire swears he can still feel the warmth of his arms around him.

.

“And they’re _still_ as clueless as ever,” Montparnasse finishes the story, his exasperated voice loud in the otherwise quiet darkness.

Jehan’s amber eyes spark in confusion. “But you said Enjolras hugged him!” they say.

“ _Yes_ ,” Montparnasse groans. “And then they laughed awkwardly and Enjolras ran off saying something about his mother and then he came back _immediately_ and they just talked the bloody morning away as usual. _Nothing else happened_.”

“Oh dear,” Jehan laughs. They really had hoped Grantaire would work up the courage to ask Enjolras out soon, the mutual attraction was getting a laughable by now.

“It’s not funny,” Montparnasse complains. “You just have to listen to R whine about it, I have to listen to the two of them make _small talk_ every day.”

“No one is making you spy on them,” Jehan smiles.

“It’s not spying if it’s in your own damn home,” Montparnasse huffs.

Jehan represses another laugh. It is hardly fair to call the entire beach Montparnasse’s home.

“They’re not going to get it on their own,” Montparnasse says disdainfully.

“Of course they will,” Jehan protests. “They’ll get there eventually.”

“They won’t,” Montparnasse contradicts. “They’re both morons.”

“They are not. Maybe they just need a little help.”

“Well they need it fast. If this keeps going there’s going to be chaos. Things are going to start showing up in threes. Spinning wheels. Poison apples. The whole lot.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Parnasse,” Jehan tuts, but they have to admit it’s a possibility. The fish returning lost treasure was already rather on the nose. “We could ask Ferre to talk to Enjolras,” they muse.

“I’m not asking the vampire for help,” Montparnasse says indignantly.

“Ferre’s nice, don’t be mean,” Jehan chides. They blow at the mist swirling around the graveyard, dissipating it a little. “I can try talking to R,” they offer. Montparnasse is probably too frustrated by now to be anything but sarcastic at him. “But when it comes to Enj I think-”

“I’ll talk to Enjolras,” Montparnasse says decidedly.

Jehan hesitates. They hadn’t expected that. “Well, alright,” they agree. “But be nice!”

“I’ll be nice,” he promises, with only a slight roll of his eyes.

“And _subtle_ ,” Jehan urges. They fix Montparnasse with an earnest look. “Please don’t be blunt.”

Montparnasse forms his handsome features in a surprised expression. “Blunt?” He echoes, drawing closer towards Jehan. “When have I ever been blunt, kindling? I can be very soft and subtle…”

“Yes…” Jehan smiles, fiery locks crackling slightly when Montparnasse brushes past their cheek with his fingers. “But I doubt you’ll want to use your best techniques in that area on Enjolras.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Montparnasse smirks. “If he’d shut up for once, he’d be quite easy on the eyes…”

Jehan fakes an affronted gasp and tries to push Montparnasse off the mausoleum they are sitting on. Montparnasse grasps at their hands to kiss them and both their laughter echoes across the dark graveyard.

.

It’s remarkable how much better the sun on his face and the wind in his hair makes him feel. Enjolras does miss the city sometimes, but roaming the streets is not the same as wandering across the fields and the beach.

“Fancy seeing you here, Sparky.”

Enjolras glances sideways with a grimace. “I preferred Dragon-boy,” he says, giving Montparnasse a slightly nettled look.

“Hm, yes,” Montparnasse hums, walking with him in direction of the sea. “But, as you so rightly pointed out last time, that _is_ what you technically are. So Sparky it is.” He grins. “Since you can’t seem to stop spitting sparks…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras bites.

“I’m sure you don’t?” Montparnasse smirks. He is annoyingly good at reading facial expressions, Enjolras has noticed that before. “Well, at least you haven’t set anything on fire lately.”

“I haven’t set anything on fire _ever_ ,” Enjolras pointedly corrects him. (Not that Montparnasse had been witness to anyway.)

“Pure luck on your side,” the kelpie snickers. “But I meant to ask you, are you ever planning to ask Grantaire out or what?”

Enjolras does not breathe sparks, but he turns very, very red.

Montparnasse, astonishingly, ignores his embarrassment and continues in a matter-of-fact tone of voice: “Because if you’re waiting for a sign or something, I think you missed several already.”

“I…” Enjolras huffs. “I don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Montparnasse jeers. “Don’t want to ask him out?”

“Maybe I do,” Enjolras says defensively. “But I don’t- Why am I talking to you about this!”

“Because I’ve got such a charming personality,” Montparnasse deadpans.

Enjolras glares at him. Montparnasse looks strange standing on the beach in the full light of day. He’s only ever seen him late at night or early in the morning before. He’s not like Grantaire and Eponine, who still have some distinct selkie tells when in their human form. Montparnasse looks completely human, with the exception of his _slightly_ too sharp teeth and the unnerving feeling that comes with looking straight into his face. But honestly, as far as Enjolras is concerned that might just be his personality.

“I don’t see how this is any business of yours,” Enjolras says stiffly. “You don’t get to decide what I do or do not say to Grantaire.”

“Believe me, I have no desire to,” Montparnasse drawls. “But I’m getting sick of having my beach littered with your shoes and precious random treasures.”

Enjolras’ entire face burns red with embarrassment. Why would Grantaire tell Montparnasse about that? “I don’t have to listen to this,” he says and he abruptly turns to go back the way he came.

Montparnasse makes an annoyed sound. “Don’t run back home, Sparky,” he protests. “Grantaire will be pissed at me if he hears I chased you off. He’s regrettably good at defending _others_.”

Enjolras turns back around to look at him. That was still an insult, but at least it’s an insult that’s supposed to be affectionate towards Grantaire. Enjolras really doesn’t understand their friendship. They usually talk as if they don’t like each other at all. And yet Montparnasse really does look like he’s going to back off. He’s standing with his hands on his back and his head ever so slightly slanted.

“Fine,” Enjolras says. He _was_ on his way to visit Grantaire after all and really, changing his mind now would only prove Montparnasse right. He won’t give him that satisfaction. Just like he’s not going to listen to that nonsense about lost shoes and coincidental fish. He won’t be bullied into a confession by bloody narratives. They’re not there yet. Enjolras is sure Grantaire likes him and he _does_ hope that…well… _eventually_ … But he can’t expect Grantaire to feel the same way he does after only knowing each other for such a short time. No. He got the sparks under control. He’ll get these rogue storylines under control too. So he keeps walking.

“By the way,” Montparnasse’s voice suddenly calls after him. “R’s sunbathing so make some noise to announce yourself if you’re going that way.” He gives Enjolras a wicked grin. “Or not.”

Enjolras _really_ wishes the sparks escaping from his nose were only from anger.

.

Jehan comes to the shore a lot more since they met Montparnasse. They were never as afraid of water as a fire creature should be (wisps are unnaturally brave, they do often live in marshes after all), but nowadays they really seem to delight in making Grantaire nervous. Jehan’s light shimmering on the sea foam is as mesmerizing as it is unnerving.

“Parnasse told me something funny the other night,” Jehan says, slowly turning round on the tip of their toes, hovering just above the water.

“Yeah?” Grantaire says, letting himself float on the waves.

“Yeah, he said you found a button in a fish.”

“I did,” Grantaire nods.

Jehan draws up their legs and rolls onto their stomach mid-air. Now they float on the mist like Grantaire floats on the waves. “So you found a button,” they say. “In a fish. That was taken by a bird. From Enjolras.” Their voice has something deliberate to it.

“Well, colour me surprised, Parnasse gave accurate information,” Grantaire quips. “Yes, that’s what happened.”

Jehan gives him an earnest look. “That doesn’t sound a little…odd?”

“Lots of odd stuff happens,” Grantaire shrugs.

“Yes…” they say. “Like finding lost shoes…”

Grantaire frowns at them slightly. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Mm…” Jehan hums. “Also…a little odd.”

“Losing flip flops on the beach is hardly shocking,” Grantaire disagrees.

“Maybe not,” they say.

There’s a short silence, in which only the sea and the wind are heard.

Grantaire looks up at Jehan, floating above him and thinks of the bird and the fish. Odd things happen all the time. He’s actually heard of something very like this happening before. Only with a lost…engagement ring. Grantaire’s face changes abruptly. “Jehan,” he groans. “Humans have a story about a lost shoe, don’t they?” Jehan is much better at that sort of stuff than he is, they spend a lot more time dancing around humans.

“Yes, they do,” Jehan says sympathetically, looking rather relieved he is finally catching on

“But…that doesn’t make any sense!” Grantaire protests. “Why would stuff like that be happening around me, us… _why_?”

Jehan smiles kindly at him. “Maybe you should have a talk with Enjolras about that,” they suggest.

Grantaire groans again.

“Just…go visit him, have a talk,” Jehan says gently. “You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to, just consider it. Who knows, anything might happen.”

Yeah, anything except Enjolras feeling the same way. Grantaire lets himself sink below the waves.

“R, don’t do that, come back,” Jehan calls to him from above the water.

He comes back up and mutters: “You think this story thing might get worse if I don’t talk to him.”

“This is not about that,” Jehan says. “This is about you being happy. Enjolras makes you happy, R, I want you to be happy.” They float a little closer. “How are you ever going to know how happy you make him if he doesn’t know how happy he makes you?”

Grantaire closes his eyes for a moment and feels the sea carrying him. Right. It doesn’t have to be about love. It can be about happiness. “Okay,” he breathes. “I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Jehan smiles.

.

Human clothes are more comfortable to wear on land than his pelt, but Grantaire feels way too nervous without it. That is why he has his seal coat draped around his shoulders despite being fully clothed and it being a very warm and sunny day. He’s on his way to Enjolras’ house, but at every turn in the road he considers turning back. There’s no reason to be like this, he’s just visiting a friend.

As soon as the house comes into view, however, he can no longer decide to leave. He is immediately greeted by Enjolras’ father.

“Hello, Grantaire!” he calls out, waving at him from behind the garden gate.

Grantaire raises his hand uncertainly.

“You’ve found me in rather the pickle,” Enjolras’ father laughs. “It seems the garden gate is broken.”

“It looks fine,” Grantaire says, looking it up and down.

“Well, yes,” he says. “Except it doesn’t open.” He rattles the gate demonstratively. “It’s very strange, but it just seems to be stuck. The mailman had to call me outside to hand me the mail!”

Grantaire frowns at the gate. “It doesn’t look locked,” he says.

“It isn’t,” Enjolras’ father agrees with a bemused expression. “It just won’t open, it’s-”

Grantaire touches the latch and the gate swings open immediately.

“Well,” Enjolras’ father says, stepping back in surprise. “That’s that problem solved I suppose. Thank you, Grantaire.”

“You’re welcome?” Grantaire says uncertainly. He has a nasty feeling that this is another strange thing that would not have happened if he wasn’t such a damn idiot. He glances nervously at Enjolras’s father. “Um…Enjolras isn’t locked in his room or anything?”

“What?” he laughs. “Of course not. He’s in the back garden reading. You go on round to the back, now I can actually leave again I’m going to run a quick errand in town.”

“Ok, good,” he breathes. “Thanks.”

He makes his way around the side of the house. The garden is very well cared for and very beautiful, Enjolras’ father is very fond of it. Grantaire knows this because he was treated to a tour the first time he visited. Enjolras was very apologetic, but clearly also proud of his father’s passion. Grantaire smiles at that memory. Enjolras is so fond of his parents, it’s-

Grantaire stops breathing for a second. His bare feet are rooted to the spot and his eyes wide.

Enjolras is sleeping among roses. Fair enough, he’s lying on an old blanket with an open book next to him, but the fact remains that he is fast asleep and surrounded by rose bushes in full bloom. Grantaire remembers he needs oxygen and tries not to sigh audibly as he notices the few rose petals that have fallen down around Enjolras. A couple of them are even lying on the tussled golden locks spread out like a halo round his head. If this wasn’t so damn cruel Grantaire would have laughed.

He clears his throat. “Enj?”

Enjolras doesn’t even stir.

Grantaire awkwardly walks over to him and crouches besides the blanket. “Enjolras?” It suddenly occurs to him – because his brain has wonderful timing – that in _stories_ dragons that can take human form are always royalty. Grantaire grimaces and prods Enjolras’ shoulder. “Enj, wake up.”

This time Enjolras does stir, just enough to turn his face towards Grantaire.

 _Nope_. Grantaire shakes his shoulder and actually raises his voice this time: “Enjolras, _please_ wake up.”

That works.

Enjolras opens his eyes and Grantaire really should have had the sense to look away, because now he’s being sleepily blinked at by sapphire eyes and he doesn’t need that right now.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras mutters and he sits up, rose petals tumbling to the ground. “What are-” His eyes open a little wider and he looks around him. At the roses blooming all around him, at the sunlight streaming down through the briars, at Grantaire sitting awkwardly on his knees beside him. “Oh…” It’s clear from his expression he’s aware of what just happened. Or rather, tried to happen.

“Yeah,” Grantaire grimaces. The distressed look on Enjolras’ face probably matches his own pretty closely. Grantaire fidgets and Enjolras fretfully runs his hand through his tangled curls, wincing slightly at the snags.

“I-” he begins.

“Well-” Grantaire tries.

And then suddenly, both of them speak at once and blurt out in unison: “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Grantaire blinks.

Enjolras gives him a shocked look. “What did you say?” he breathes.

“Wait,” Grantaire sputters, still trying to catch up with his ears. “ _You’re_ sorry?”

Enjolras turns red, but his blue eyes are shining wildly. “You thought this was happening because of you?” he demands.

“Well, yes,” Grantaire says uncertainly. “Because I…” He trails off, the joy stirring on Enjolras’ face is too obvious to ignore. Surely they can’t _both_ have-

“I thought it was me!” Enjolras bursts out. “Just me.”

Grantaire feels a laugh stir inside him, but he doesn’t dare let it out yet. “Okay…” he says shakily. “Alright… Um…”

Enjolras looks at him with a face that is literally glowing. With shining gladness as well as with heat. His hair always has a radiant quality, but now it’s almost luminous.

“Why did you come to visit?” Enjolras asks eagerly. “Not that you need a reason, of course,” he adds hastily. “I just wondered if-”

“I came to talk, and to probably wuss out of telling you how I really feel about you,” Grantaire says promptly. He’s still not entirely convinced the overjoyed warmth now radiating all around Enjolras means what an insane part of his brain thinks it _must_ mean, but he doesn’t see the use of lying anymore either.

“Would it help if I told you first?” Enjolras asks happily.

Grantaire gives him a helpless look.

“I’m in love with you,” Enjolras declares.

Now Grantaire doesn’t know whether it’s him or Enjolras that’s the source of all that glow. “That was what I was going to wuss out of telling you, yeah,” he says.

Enjolras’ eyes spark and suddenly he gets to his feet. “Come!” he says, holding out his hand to Grantaire.

“What?” he says, giving him a bewildered look and taking his hand. They’ve never held hands before. Enjolras is so warm. Of course he is. “Where are we going?”

“Just…over here,” Enjolras mutters, pulling him to the other side of the garden. He turns to him and says: “I don’t want to kiss you under roses.”

Grantaire laughs.

“Provided…you want me to-” Enjolras begins, colouring even redder.

Somehow Enjolras being shy for a moment helps. Grantaire grabs his other hand and says, almost solemnly: “ _Yes,_ I do and I for one don’t give a toss about the scenery.”

“I just want it to be on our terms,” Enjolras explains, glancing back at the flourishing roses kind of resentfully. “Not because of some…” He looks at Grantaire with earnest eyes. “I want it to be…”

“Real?” he supplies. “Yeah, me too.” He really, _really_ does.

Enjolras smiles at him, and the red scales around his eyes shine almost as gold as his hair. He leans down a little and Grantaire looks up at him with a smile that is very similar only much more crooked. His heart is dancing in his chest, his fingers are grasping Enjolras’ and their lips are almost touching.

Grantaire doesn’t remember closing his eyes. He doesn’t consciously let go of Enjolras’ hand either. But suddenly he is breathing in a blur of exploded happiness and warmth and a faint smell of bonfire and he feels Enjolras’ hands on his chest at the same time that their mouths meet. Grantaire leans into the kiss and feels the world moving beneath his feet. It’s not just the happiness and euphoria, it’s all the uncertainty and doubt falling away in one glorious moment.

Very slowly they pull away again and look at each other. Enjolras must have closed his eyes too, because Grantaire is just in time to see his lashes move.

“Do you think it will stop now?” Enjolras asks. “The fish and roses and stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire hums, pretending to frown thoughtfully. He is so happy he wishes he was in the water so he could leap and splash for joy. But that would mean not being here, and here is the best place in the world. He gives Enjolras a serious look. “Better be safe than sorry.”

Enjolras lets out a muffled laugh against his lips as Grantaire kisses him again. When Grantaire pulls away they both laugh out loud and sparks spill from Enjolras’ mouth, flying joyfully up into the air.

“I guess that _isn’t_ over,” Enjolras blushes.

Grantaire’s smile turns into a delighted grin. “You do that because of _me_?” he gushes. “I thought it was just a dragon thing!”

“It is,” Enjolras says, almost defensively. He gives Grantaire an embarrassed smile. “You just make it a little harder to control.”

Grantaire thinks back to every single time he’s seen Enjolras breathe sparks that weren’t accompanied by the smoke of frustration or anger. There are a lot of times. Going back…way further than he’d ever-

“Shut up,” Enjolras grins before he has even said a word and Grantaire doesn’t even try because Enjolras pulls him back into another kiss by the collar of his shirt. Well, they’re making up for lost time.

When they finally let go of each other, they are both slightly out of breath. Grantaire is slightly dizzy even. Enjolras tastes like fire, in the _best_ way possible.

“Can I-” Enjolras breathes. "Can I walk you back to the shore?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire grins. “Yeah you can.” He stoops to pick up his pelt, that slid to the grass at some point. He drapes it around his shoulders.

Enjolras is looking at him with an expression of utter happiness.

Grantaire sees his eyes linger on his pelt for just a second too long and he smiles. “Go on,” he says and he catches his hand and puts it on the fur around his shoulder.

Enjolras’ face lights up at the touch of it and he carefully strokes the thick coat. “It’s just as soft and smooth as it looks,” he says.

“You could have asked before,” Grantaire chuckles. “I wouldn’t have minded.” Of course he wouldn’t have minded, he would have struggled to hide how _much_ he wouldn’t have minded.

“Yeah, no,” Enjolras grimaces with a laugh. “I would have set something on fire.”

Grantaire laughs out loud, but when Enjolras smilingly retracts his hand he asks: “How come you’re not breathing fire now then.”

“Because I’m not nervous I guess?” Enjolras replies. He grins. “It’d be pretty terrible if I breathed fire every time I was happy.”

“You’re glowing, though,” Grantaire points out, admiring the shine coming off Enjolras’ whole person.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I feel like glowing.”

Grantaire silently takes his hand and they stroll out of the garden and down the path towards the sea. The closer they get the faster Grantaire starts walking. Not because he wants the walk to be over, but because he needs to be by the water. He is so outrageously happy it feels like he can’t take it. He needs the waves and the wind to spread this happiness around a little or he might burst. A wonderful thought occurs to him and he suddenly holds still and turns to Enjolras, who looks exactly as happy as he feels.

“About spring tide,” Grantaire begins.

“Yes?” Enjolras says expectantly.

“When I told them about it I think Jehan first thought I asked you to be my date,” he says with half a grin. “And that actually sounds pretty good right now, so…will you be my date to spring tide?”

Enjolras beams. “Yes, and I’ll be your date to whatever and wherever, whenever you want me.”

“Oh good,” Grantaire quips. “Then I’d like to reserve you for everything, everywhere, always.”

Grantaire does not know any other dragons, so he cannot be sure, but the way Enjolras’ laugh rings out around him doesn’t sound human to him. Grantaire grins at him and then, without saying anything, he starts running and almost drags Enjolras the rest of the way to the beach by his hand. Because he is a selkie beloved by a dragon and he has jumps for joy to make he cannot make on land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to make it clear that it is actually neither Enjolras nor Grantaire making the fairy tale tropes appear. Their surroundings respond to their collective pining.
> 
> Let it also be known that my sister not only proofread this, but helped me design this whole storyling. Her input is invaluable <3
> 
> Also if you _haven't_ seen Débora's heartwarming art for these two, why would you deny yourself such joy?? [Please go look at it now!](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/post/165092480388/selkie-grantaire-and-dragon-enjolras-from-this)


	8. Feathers and Fur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High time the girls got some spotlight!

"You are fluttering, my dear," Valjean says kindly.

Cosette holds still halfway through her third time pacing through the room. "I am sorry, Papa," she says with a sigh. She sits down in a chair by the window, but a moment later she is on her feet again. She just can’t help it. The moon is full and as much as Cosette loves their little cottage by the watermill, tonight she cannot bear to be inside.

"Cosette," Valjean says, lowering his book with a smile. "Why don’t you go and spread your wings a little?"

Her heart leaps at the thought, but she bites her lip hesitantly regardless.

Her father has laid down his book completely now. "It's the whole reason we moved here, my dear," he says. "It's a beautiful night. Why don't you go see Éponine?"

Cosette glances out of the window and thinks of soaring above moonlit shores and seeing Éponine in the water below. She wavers for a second longer, but then her longing outgrows her caution.

"I think I will!" she says happily. "Just for a moment."

"Of course," Valjean smiles.

"Thank you, papa," Cosette beams.

She drops a quick kiss on his cheek and then runs out of the room with feet so light they are near soundless. She flies up the narrow stairs two steps at the time, tumbles into her room and throws open the doors of her wardrobe. On the top shelf, wrapped in silk and tissue paper, lies her most precious garment. Cosette takes it out carefully and lovingly strokes the snow-white down and feathers. Eagerly she opens her bedroom window. The night air rolling in, heavy with shadows and drenched with moonlight, makes her soul leap inside her.

With a heart that beats as wildly as the glitter in her eye, Cosette slips out of her dress and takes up her feathers. Her slender fingers slide into the down and with a sigh of joy Cosette let herself sink into her swan skin. Joyfully she spreads her slender arms into strong wings and a heartbeat later Cosette leaps out of the window. Her own pearly laugh sounds from the swan's beak and she circles one around the cottage, glorying to feel the wind in her feathers, before she soars up into the sky and flies towards the sea. There is nothing quite like the burst of happiness that surges through her every time she properly spreads her wings. It is beauty. It is strength. It is freedom. It is a part of her that one day she will not hesitate to show anymore. Still, even with all this happiness, Cosette feels a considerable extra spark of joy when she spots the familiar shape of Éponine in the water below her. It is not that there aren’t other selkies around here, it is just that Cosette knows Éponine’s shape when she sees it.

She glides down in large, swooping circles and calls out. A swan’s cry isn’t as melodic as most humans think it should be, but Cosette can make it sound loud and cheerful. Éponine’s wet head turns skyward and Cosette can just see her face break out in a smile in the moonlight. She calls again, this time from nothing but lightheartedness. Éponine shouts back something challenging and even though Cosette cannot quite hear it in the rushing of the wind, she sees her friend hide her human face in favour of her seal form. Cosette gives a strong beat of her wings, right at the moment that Éponine starts speeding through the water. Seal and swan chase each other. One in the air one in the waves. The moonlit night is filled with noises that do not sound quite like human laughter and not quite like animal cries.

Finally, when she’s full up with exhilaration and almost feeling tiredness in her wings, Cosette lets herself drift down and lands on a big rock sticking stoutly up out of the waves. Éponine swims over to her. The seal disappears under water and two human hands reach up to grab hold of the rock. Cosette wraps her wings around her and while Éponine heaves herself out of the water Cosette adjusts to having arms and legs again. A moment later they are sitting side by side, both slightly out of breath, one wrapped in feathers the other in fur.

“Thank you,” Cosette says with a happy sigh.

“For what?” Éponine smiles.

Cosette tries to find the right words. “I’m so glad I don’t have to fly alone anymore.”

Éponine’s smile widens for a moment. “Anytime,” she says softly.

Cosette can see her hand right beside hers on the rock and she wishes she dared to reach out and squeeze it. Well…why not? “ _Thank you_ ,” she says again and she gives Éponine’s hand a quick squeeze.

Éponine’s dark eyes dart to her face and then back to the sea. She squeezes back.

Cosette’s heart hums. It doesn’t even stop when Éponine pulls her hand back to smooth her wet hair out of her face.

“Where are the pups?” Cosette asks fondly.

Éponine grins. “Montparnasse is giving them a ride,” she confides. “But don’t tell him I told you.”

Cosette chuckles. She really doesn’t know why Montparnasse still tries to keep up appearances, everybody knows how fond he is of Éponine’s siblings. And to think that some people in the village actually seem to be afraid of him.

“Do you have time to stay until they come back?” Éponine asks, a little hesitantly. “They’ll be sorry to have missed you. Zelma especially.”

“Of course,” Cosette beams. As if she’d need to be persuaded to stay.

Éponine grins and sits back on the rock a little more comfortably. “It’s a nice night,” she says, looking up.

“Yes,” Cosette agrees, looking at the moonlight reflected in Éponine’s eyes. “Beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There would be a lot of Sapphic pining now, except Cosette is as Bold as she is Soft so these two won’t have to suffer like Enj and R. ^^
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	9. Éponine and Cosette Backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t write this in proper story format because it isn’t fluffy enough by far and as we all know I am in the fluff business, but if anyone is wondering backstory, here is some vital information about Éponine and the other little Thénardiers, including some Cosette, Fantine and Valjean.

Mme Thénardier is a selkie. She lived near the harbor of a rather big town. Thénardier managed to charm her and convinced her to come ashore to be his wife. (She thinks this is the most  _romantic_ thing, because the stories selkie maidens get told about human men is that they’ll just steal your pelt and force you to follow them home.) The thing about selkies is...their magic seal coats can be used by other people. That makes them  _very_ valuable to people wanting the ability to shape shift...

This is breaking my heart, but the Thénardiers didn’t have five kids because they’re so fond of children. Mme Thénardier gave birth to them in her selkie form so the kids would be too. Selkies are born as seal pups so not only did the Thénardiers have to wait until the children learned to shed their coats, they had to wait for them to grow up so the pelt could be used by an adult.

Shortly after they had Éponine they were approached by Fantine, a swan maiden that had sold her feathers to survive. She begged them to take in Cosette, her darling daughter, who is half-human, but has unexpectedly started to grow feathers. Fantine wants to win back her own feathers so she can take proper care of her fledgling, as soon as she does she will come back for her. What better place to leave her than with a whole family of half-human shape shifers? Of course the Thénardiers agreed. Swan feathers are even more valuable than selkie pelts.

After a few years Cosette luckily gets rescued by Valjean (who pays a small fortune for her freedom).

Éponine and her siblings are not so lucky, but as Éponine is approaching her seventeenth birthday she overhears her parents talking about selling her pelt and  _that does it_. That very night she grabs Azelma, Gavroche, Matéo, Judoc and flees. But before they go, she steals her mother’s pelt and straight up tosses in the sea and lets it wash away, so her mother can never follow them.

They swim and ride the current until they’re brought near the sand banks where Grantaire’s herd lives. An exhausted Éponine runs into Montparnasse, who shows her and her siblings to a safe place to sleep. When they wake up Montparnasse has brought Grantaire, who doesn’t ask any questions, but promptly invites them to stay with his herd as long as they like. So they do.

They all live there happily, the pups growing more carefree than Éponine ever could be...and then two new people arrive in the human town. A man called Valjean and his beautiful daughter Cosette.

Éponine can’t really believe it, but Cosette recognizes her  _immediately_ and is absolutely overjoyed to see her again. They were hoping to find Fantine, but Cosette declares this is as good a find. Valjean is horrified when he finds out what happened to them all. If he had known the Thénardiers were planning to do that to their  _own_ children as well he would have taken them all away. Éponine doesn’t blame him, however, and she definitely doesn’t blame Cosette.

Cosette who is still nervous about wearing her feathers because she is afraid people will want to take them away. Cosette who goes to the shore to talk to Éponine more and more. Cosette who dotes on all Éponine’s siblings. Cosette who is crushing on Éponine like you wouldn’t believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is hopefully some Enjoltaire cuddles and Enj meeting Joly :)


	10. Pointed teeth and pointed ears

_Ten minutes_. Courfeyrac raises his lantern in frustration. He’s busy for ten damn minutes and Marius is just gone. Courfeyrac knows he is hardly one to talk. His attention is all over the place and yes he did spend the majority of his childhood chasing after butterflies, but at least he makes enough noise to be easily followed. His feet thump on the ground and his laugh is loud enough to be heard for miles. Marius just sort of…wanders off in silence.

“Marius?” he calls out.

A window opens and a kind-looking woman leans out. “Something the matter, dear?”

Courfeyrac flashes her a strained smile. “I’m looking for my friend.”

She looks him up and down. “Oh!” she says. “You’re one of the elf boys that took a room with Louison.”

Courfeyrac grits his teeth. He’s too tired to get into this again. “Have you seen him?” he asks.

“No, sorry,” the woman shakes her head. “But don’t you-”

“Alright, thank you, you’re very kind,” Courfeyrac says hurriedly and he darts off. The moon hasn’t risen yet. If it had, Marius would be easier to find. Not because of the light, but because Marius would go where the moonlight shines brightest. “Marius!” Courfeyrac calls out, a little louder this time. Normally he wouldn’t be so concerned, but they’ve only just arrived here and Marius has a tendency to get caught up in the strangest incidents.

When he reaches the end of the street, he does not know which way to go. “Damn it,” Courfeyrac mutters.

“Could I be of assistance?”

Courfeyrac starts and spins round. A young man is standing on the doorstep of the nearest house. “Um,” he hesitates, blinking rapidly. Courfeyrac has never seen anyone that managed so well to embody the words ‘tall, dark and handsome’ without looking like a cliché. “I seem to have lost my friend,” he says, regaining his composure as quickly as he lost it. “Maybe you’ve seen him? Slightly taller than me, pale, red hair, freckles…”

The young man shakes his head regretfully. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t. Is he a troll like you?”

“No he’s-” Courfeyrac chokes on his own words mid-sentence. He stares at the helpful stranger with his mouth half open. “Did you just say troll?”

“Yes?” the other smiles uncertainly.

Courfeyrac is  _ecstatic_. “You can tell I’m a troll?” he beams.

“Well, yes,” the young man smiles. “The bare feet in conjunction with the ears are somewhat of a giveaway, but – and I’m sorry if pointing this out is rude – you do have a tail.”

“I love you,” Courfeyrac says blankly.

This time the stranger starts a little. “Um…”

“You are the first person since I arrived here to notice I’m not an elf!” Courfeyrac explains emphatically. “I mean, I know the ears are similar-” He shakes his head so his thick curls bounce around his pointed ears. “-but come on. And just because I like to dance, doesn’t mean I’m an elf.” He grins. “I’m Courfeyrac by the way.”

“Combeferre,” the other introduces himself in turn and he rewards Courfeyrac’s grin with a smile that is wide enough to show his teeth.

Courfeyrac can’t help but notice the fangs now. “Wow,” he says. “I guess you don’t get misidentified often.”

“No,” Combeferre chuckles. “Unless people think I’m still human, of course. That happens quite a lot.” He slants his head. “May I say that was very honest of you, most people try to pretend they didn’t notice.”

Courfeyrac can’t imagine why. Vampires still have a bit of a questionable reputation, but Combeferre is obviously a nice guy. “Well you talked about my tail,” he quips. “So I figured you’re not too sensitive about that sort of stuff.”

That earns him another chuckle. “Fair enough,” Combeferre says. “But about your friend-”

“Yes!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “Marius.” He turns around, looking to either side of the street. “Well, he  _is_  an elf and he tends to wander.” Suddenly his face brightens up. “Are there any standing stones around here?”

“Certainly,” Combeferre nods. “Shall I show you there?”

“If you wouldn’t mind?” Courfeyrac says gratefully. “Ten to one Marius will end up there.”

“Of course, no trouble at all,” Combeferre says. He gestures at Courfeyrac to cross the street and they walk on together. “When we find him, shall I pretend to think he is a troll?” he asks pleasantly. “For equality’s sake?”

Courfeyrac beams at him. “That-” he says. “-would absolutely make my night.” He grins. “And Marius’ too probably.”

“Consider it done,” Combeferre laughs.

The bounce in Courfeyraç’s step has increased tenfold. He’s so glad he dragged Marius out here to see something of the world. On that note, when they find him he should really thank Marius for wandering off this time. Meeting Combeferre is  _definitely_ worth having to go on an elf chase for the gazillionth time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They find marius by the standings tones. He's fine, he just wandered off to appreciate the night's beauty.
> 
> (And yes, Ferre is immortal but he hasn't been a vampire long and trolls grow up at roughly the same speed as humans but grow old veeeeeery slowly so don't worry <3)


	11. Warmth to Bask In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a shout-out to In-love-and-liberty because of their excellent suggestion that since selkies love sunbathing, Grantaire would try to lie on top of Enjolras because he is warm.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, trying to push himself up on his elbows. “Could you move over a little?” They had been lying side by side on the flat rock on the water’s edge, but by now Grantaire is lying mostly on top of him. Strictly speaking that is not something Enjolras has anything against, _at all_ , except- “I can’t read like this,” he complains, nearly dropping his book.

“But the sun is gone,” Grantaire complains back at him. “And you’re warm.” He lets his arm drape heavily across Enjolras’ back demonstratively. Enjolras’ left leg is already trapped under his tail, which is solid and heavy.

“R,” Enjolras protests laughingly. The rock isn’t exactly soft to lie on and he doesn’t have Grantaire’s padding.

“Fine,” grantaire sulks and he rolls off his boyfriend with a whining sound that coaxes a smile from enjolras’ lips.

“Sulky selkie,” he teases, but before Grantaire can pull another face at him he gives him a gentle nudge to make him lie down on his back.

As soon as he does, Enjolras sprawls out on the stone as well, resting his head on Grantaire’s tail.

“Oh, so you _are_ allowed to lie on _me_?” Grantaire quips, but he doesn’t even manage to fake a little indignation.

“Shush,” Enjolras grins. “You’re soft.” He turns his head so he can just see Grantaire’s face. “And I can warm you up like this just fine.” He takes a deep breath and focusses on the fire in his being. Slowly, carefully, he brings a little of it to the surface.

Grantaire makes an approving sound when he feels the heat beginning to radiate stronger and stronger around Enjolras and Enjolras smiles.

“Better?” he asks, taking up his book again and his head nestled against Grantaire’s fur.

“Mmm,” Grantaire hums, closing his eyes. “Should have gotten myself a dragon boyfriend way sooner.”

Enjolras reaches out and pinches the end of Grantaire’s tail, which makes his eyes fly open with a yelp.

“Oi!”

Enjolras snorts with laughter, a few sparks escaping through his nose.

“I’ll swipe you off!” Grantaire threatens, trying to swat Enjolras in the face with his tail.

“Yeah,” Enjoras hums. “You’re really not selling this as a good hangout place. Between squashing me against a rock and threatening to throw me into the water.”

Grantaire huffs and let’s himself fall flat on his back again. “You’re welcome to lie on me if you like,” he grins.

Enjolras knows he doesn’t expect him to  and that’s exactly why he promptly scrambles up on his knees, grabs his book and lays down flat on top of Grantaire on his stomach. His legs straddling his tail and his arms crossed against Grantaire’s chest so he can still hold his book.

Grantaire makes a surprised noise that turns to a content hum as he shifts his weight until they are both nice and comfy.

“How’s this?” Enjolras asks, grinning at Grantaire across the top of his book.

“Pretty damn perfect,” Grantaire grins back.

Enjolras smiles, he doesn’t have to focus to keep his warmth up now. When he’s happy and comfortable it usually more effort to keep his temperature down. And with Grantaire that is clearly not necessary. He has closed his eyes and is almost dozing off, letting Enjolras’ warmth seep into his bones. Enjolras makes a content sound that makes Grantaire open his eyes slightly to smile at him, but he wisely doesn’t say anything about purring. Instead he mutters:

“You don’t happen to like reading out loud, do you?”

Enjolras’ looks up from the page. “I do actually,” he says warmly.

“You’re too good to be true,” Grantaire groans happily and he folds his arms behind his head and closes his eyes again.

“Is that a ‘please read to me, Enjolras’?” Enjolras teases.

“Yes, yes it is,” Grantaire says.

“Alright then, just checking,” Enjolras smirks. He turns back to the beginning of his current chapter and starts reading. His voice is low enough to only be heard by Grantaire and from a little distance the sound of them both, happily basking in each other’s presence, is merely a murmur among the rushing of the sea and wind. A very happy murmur, that shows no sign of fading away.


	12. On the cultural diversity of dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Smoljoly, who helped me to figure out Joly’s character <3

Unless he’s truly going ashore, Grantaire prefers to not completely shed his seal form. Usually when he and Enjolras sit on one of the rocks in the shoreline he even keeps the end of his tail hanging in the water. Enjolras had always assumed this was out of comfort, but one afternoon very near the new moon that promises a spring tide storm, he learns differently. In the middle of their conversation Grantaire suddenly lifts his head and sits up, looking out across the sea.

“Someone’s here,” he says.

Enjolras looks around. “How do you know?”

Grantaire gives a splash with his tail. “I can feel them coming.”

Enjolras raises his eyes in surprise and Grantaire grins.

“My tail is not as sensitive as my whiskers,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “But it’s good enough.”

Enjolras scans the waves, suitably impressed. He sees nothing. “Montparnasse perhaps?’ he suggests. The kelpie is annoyingly fond of bothering them.

“No,” Grantaire shakes his head. “Him I feel coming from a mile off or not at all, no it’s must be s-” His face lights up and he points at the waves. “Hey! Even better, it’s Joly!”

Enjolras looks, but the sun on the water is dazzling and he sees nothing but a dark spot.

Grantaire raises his arm and waves. “Joly!” he calls out.

The dark spot moves and disappears, but now Enjolras sees movement in the water. It comes towards them remarkably quickly and a moment later a head pops up on the side of the rock where the water is deepest.

“Joly!” Grantaire grins. “Where have you been?”

“Exploring,” they say, grinning up at the both of the. “Hello!” They grab onto the edge of the rock with one hand and hold out the other to Enjolras. “Joly, nice to meet you!”

Enjolras carefully shakes Joly’s hand, mindful of their slightly webbed fingers. “Enjolras,” he smiles. “And likewise!”

Joly has a pleasant, round face and very short hair for a mermaid. Enjolras notices he isn’t the only one inspecting hair, Joly seems to be earnestly gazing at his. His eyes meet theirs and they blink apologetically.

“Sorry, I was just- You don’t have horns.”

“No,” Enjolras says, puzzled. “I’m in my human form.”

“Oh, you transform?” Joly says curiously.

“Not that often,” Enjolras mutters, a little taken aback. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t!” Joly says hastily. “I guess I just expected…” They glance apologetically between Enjolras and Grantaire and back again. “R mentioned you’re dragonish and well, you’re on land, so- But I didn’t consider you do a full transformation, unlike me.”

That explanation did not exactly clear things up for Enjolras and it makes Grantaire blurt out:

“What do you mean unlike me?”

Joly laughs up at him and Grantire looks baffled. “I thought you were a mermaid.”

“Jiaoren,” Joly corrects cheerfully. “But I really don’t mind. We’re very closely related.”

“You could have told me!” Grantaire cries, clearly embarrassed. “At least when I mentioned Enj.”

“Wait,” Enjolras says curiously. “You mean you don’t transform completely?”

“Nope,” Joly says, clearly glad that Enjolras isn’t offended. “This is what I always look like.” They haul themself out of the water and onto the rock, showing off a tail that to Enjolras looks nothing like a mermaid’s. It reminds him more of drawings of sea serpents. His scales are a pale white, smooth and shimmery, but dotted with spots in various reds. It’s beautiful.

“So you’re a water dragon?” Grantaire asks, frowning.

“Something like that,” Joly smiles. “But not quite.”

“Urgh,” Grantaire grunts and he lets himself flop back flat onto the rock to show he’s giving up.

Joly laughs and Enjolras pats him on his hip sympathetically. He doesn’t quite follow everything himself, but he’s excited, he has never met another dragonish person before.

“So you’re from China?” he asks curiously.

“South Chinese Sea,” Joly nods. “But I like travelling, meeting new people.”

Enjolras is wild to know about them and he doesn’t need to ask too many questions to get Joly talking. They speak of themself and Enjolras as very distant cousins and Enjolras is inclined to agree. Joly really seems more closely related to the merrows and mermaids in most aspects. But far more important than that: they are incredibly likeable. Grantaire had told him he would like Joly and he really does.

While they’re talking the sun, that has been steadily rising, but sometimes hides behind the clouds, comes out and shines directly into Enjolras’ face. Joly’s eyes linger on the scales on Enjolras face when they catch the sunlight and Enjolras smiles, tucking his hair behind his pointed ears.

Joly’s looks delighted. Their own ears look completely human. “That’s so neat,” they say cheerfully. “Your only tells are on your face, opposite of me!”

“Why did you think he would have horns though?” Grantaire asks. He has been listening to them talk without saying too much himself, apparently pleased enough that they’re getting along so well.

“I don’t know really,” Joly shrugs. “The few land dragons I met back home all had horns and none of us jiaoren do.”

“I have horns,” Enjolras says. “In my dragon form I mean.”

“You do?” Grantaire says, surprised.

Enjolras runs a hand through his hair. They’ve never really talked about this. Grantaire has never asked about his dragon form and he has always been grateful for that. He has always lived among humans, there is a reason he speaks of his ‘dragon form’ but not his ‘human form’. Right now Grantaire is looking at him with a vague grin on his face. After a moment he shakes his head.

“What?” Enjolras asks.

“I’m trying to imagine you with horns or wings,” Grantaire grins. “I’m having a hard time doing it actually.”

“I can’t do partial transformations anyway,” Enjolras says. From what he’s read usually only dragons much older than himself are capable of holding a form between animal and human. He hasn’t tried in a while though. Transforming is tiring, he doesn’t understand how Grantaire can do it so casually.

Grantaire laughs at himself and shakes his head.

“What?” Enjolras asks again, smiling.

“Just, you with wings,” Grantaire, shaking his head again.

“This is really the first time you’re thinking about your partner’s transformed appearance?” Joly asks amusedly.

Grantaire splutters defensively. “Oh excuse me for being a  _little_ preoccupied with what’s in front of me, instead of trying to imagine all sorts of things that will make me behave like even more of an idiot because of how distracted I am.” He huffs. “As if he isn’t impressive enough  _without_  wings.”

The spark of happiness in Enjolras’ chest is so hot he has to focus on his breathing not to exhale smoke and the eye-twinkling glance Grantaire gives him is not helping.

Joly meanwhile laughingly holds up their hands in apology, saying something pleasant that Enjolras doesn’t quite catch because he’s still busy with not letting the fire in his chest spill from his lips. If Joly hadn’t been there he would have kissed Grantaire right now, because he really wants to.

“Speaking of partners,” Grantaire says cheerfully, mercifully taking his eyes off Enjolras. “How are Bossuet and Chetta?”

Joly’s cheeks dimple. “Great,” they say warmly.

“Are they coming to the spring tide celebration?” Grantaire asks.

“Bossuet will!” Joly says happily. “Musichetta doesn’t know yet.” They look at Enjolras, who feels tolerably in control of his own temperature again. “Are you coming?”

Enjolras smiles. “Someone asked me to be his date,” he says, just a touch smug. “So, yeah. Definitely.”

Grantaire wraps an arm around him, equally smug and goes on to prove that Joly’s presence isn’t nearly as much of a deterrent factor for  _him_ , by nuzzling Enjolras’ neck and hugging him so tight around the waist that Enjolras laughingly tries to squirm away. His laughter sends sparks up into the air and because Grantaire and Joly immediately laugh with him, Enjolras doesn’t mind one bit.


	13. An Unusual Hoard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Dragon Enjolras for Giinny, properly introducing Enj’s adoptive parents :)

George and Marianne Enjolras were three things: very happily married, very fond of adventure and, at the moment, running as fast as they possibly could.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” George panted, looking over his shoulder.

“No,” Marianne agreed breathlessly, hugging the large egg closer to her chest. “Are they following us?”

“Not yet,” he replied.

Their footsteps thumped as they hurried back towards the blinking lights of the town. Nobody seems to have seen what they did and it really seems like no one is following them, but they don’t slow down. Because they just stole a real life dragon egg and there is no way they are giving it back.

The travelling sideshow that had set up a little way outside of town was mostly a colourful sham. It promised to give visitors a rare glimpse at ‘the wonders of the magical world’, but all it had was parlour tricks. Rabbits with wooden antlers tied behind their ears, horses with their manes dyed and braided and their hooves stained with gold, magicians that pretended to be true users of magic. All amusing enough, but not _real_. The large, red and gold egg lying in a basket among a pile of fake glass gemstones _had_ been real though.

Both Marianne and George thought it looked suspiciously realistic right from the start. It was warm to the touch and the rough, scaly texture of the shell felt so strange and wonderful that they had stroked it. Neither of them had really meant to, it just felt like the right thing to do. So they did. Just one stroke. Just because it seemed like the proper thing to do.

That was when the egg purred at them.

By now that was about fifteen minutes ago. Because it had taken exactly eleven and a half minutes for George and Marianne to decide that this egg was not only alive, it was also extremely rare and extremely badly cared for. An egg, after all, was a baby, and babies should not be exhibited like cheap props. It wasn’t right. There wasn’t even a blanket in the basket the egg was lying in. And it had _purred_ at them. Not even a _blanket_.

So now they were running, George looking over his shoulder at every turn and Marianne cradling the egg in her arms, trying not the jostle it too much.

“Manou,” George panted, looking back once more. “Manou, slow down.”

Marianne slowed to a trot, breathing hard.

“I think,” George said, gulping down air. “I think they really haven’t noticed.” He could hardly believe it, but there really was no one chasing him. No cries of theft or outrage behind them. And they were nearly out of earshot of the fairground already.

“Well,” Marianne huffed. “So much the better.” She stood still for a moment, trying to breathe thought the stabbing in her sides.

“Is he heavy?” George asked concernedly. “Shall I carry him – it – the rest of the way?” What was he supposed to call the egg?

“Please,” Marianne nodded, but she still felt oddly unwilling to let go of the egg. Still, she was only putting it into George’s arms, so that was alright. “Have you got him – it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” George muttered, an involuntary smile dawning on his face. The egg was so warm… “Do you think he’s cold?” he asked, looking up at Marianne.

“I have no idea,” she said. “But let’s not take any chances. Come on.”

They hurried home, as fast as they could go without running or looking too suspicious. When they reached the town, Marianne took off her jacket and draped it across the egg just in case. More to hide it from prying eyes than for warmth, but it couldn’t hurt.

When they finally closed the door to their home behind them, they both breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment they just stood there in the dark hallway, huddled close together, the egg in between them. Then, slowly, Marianne said:

“George…we stole a dragon.” She felt a bit lightheaded.

“We stole an egg,” George corrected her weakly.

Marianne nodded. “Yes,” she said. “A badly cared for egg.”

“Very badly,” he agreed hastily. “Very badly indeed.”

“They probably didn’t even know what it was,” Marianne added, putting her hand on the warm shell. It seemed to hum under her fingertips.

“Very possible,” he nodded, rocking the egg slightly in his arms. “And it looked cold.” Not even a blanket, how dare they.

“Yes, very cold,” Marianne said firmly.

There was a short silence.

“He’s ours now,” Marianne said, just to be perfectly clear.

“Yes,” George said, addressing the world in general rather than anyone in particular. “Yes, he is.”

Another silence followed, a slightly more tense one this time.

“So…what do we do now?”

.

As it turned out, it mattered very little what they did. Both of them tried very hard to remember if they had ever read anything that might be of help and George very much lamented the fact that it was too late to go to the library. In the end they settled for wrapping the egg in a woollen shawl and placing it in front of the fireplace, in which they lit as big a fire as they deemed safe.

All these preparations, as good as they were, were largely useless. Because just as they had begun to discuss whether making hot steam might be better for the egg than the dry heat of the fire, there was a decided cracking noise.

It is doubtful if any parent is ever fully ready to be a parent, but it is safe to say that Marianne and George, having had exactly three hours to prepare, were certainly not ready. Within seconds they were both on their knees beside the egg, their eyes wide with affectionate panic.

“It can’t be hatching,” Marianne said. “Not already!” This was a rather nonsensical statement and she knew it, because they had no way of telling how old this egg was. They didn’t even know how long dragon eggs took to hatch.

“Maybe it’s because it is safe now?” George stammered. “I’m sure I read somewhere that-”

There was another loud crack and Marianne and George winced in the universal shared pain that all humans are capable of, but that is particularly prevalent in parents. They both reached out to the egg without realizing it and under their hands, as if it truly knew it would at last be well cared for, the dragon hatched.

The egg had been big, but it was still a surprise to see a whole creature crawl out of it. There were red scales, and little claws and a tail and a warm body that curved into their hands like a cat would do.

“Oh Manou,” George breathed. “Look at him…”

“I am,” Marianne said hoarsely.

The little dragon had blue eyes. Blue, brilliant eyes that looked from one parent to the other with such a human expression that they were both nearly speechless.

“Hello little one,” George breathed, stroking the dragons back.

The creature purred and looked up at him.

Marianne held out her hand and the baby dragon turned his slender neck to look at her instead. Then he looked at her hand and put out his paw. His tiny claw spread against her palm and Marianne felt a lump in her throat.

The dragon bent his head and it seemed to George that he was studying how his own paw looked on Marianne’s hand. Almost like he was-

Marianne let out a cry of surprise and a second later George saw it too.

Right in front of their eyes, the little dragon, red and scaly, with a twisty tail and little, folded wings of creased leather, started to change form. Bewildered, George and Marianne watched claws turn to fingers and scales turn to soft skin until what they held in between them in front of the fire was no longer a creature, but a child. A small boy with big, blue eyes, soft hair reminiscent of spun gold and a skin with a slight warm tan to it. They stared at him, in dumbfounded admiration, until he smiled and they both broke down.

“It’s a boy,” Marianne cried, wrapping him up in her arms. “Look at you, you’re a- George we have a son. A dragon and a son.”

“Hello,” George just managed to say, one of the toddlers tiny hands in his. “That’s a neat trick you just did, I didn’t know you could do that.”

The toddler looked rather pleased with himself and was certainly quite content to be cuddled and have his hair stroked. Both parents inspected him carefully and they found that he really looked completely human, with the exception of rather long and slightly pointed ears and a dusting of red scales lining his round cheeks.

Marianne thought she was going to spill over, so full up with happiness she felt. “You-” she muttered against the side of the boy's head. “-are the most wonderful thing we ever stole.”

“You make it sound like we steal things all the time,” George protested, an immovable smile on his face.

“Well,” Marianne said thoughtfully. “We-”

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves properly yet and you’re already making a bad first impression,” he interrupted her chidingly.

Marianne grinned at him and George wondered vaguely if it was his imagination or if his wife and the boy in her arms really did have the same sort of light in their eyes.

“Am I a bad influence?” Marianne cooed, touching her nose to the toddler’s. “I don’t think I am. Remember, your mother only steals things if they need to be liberated from where they currently are.”

The boy blinked his blue eyes and suddenly he laughed. Not a gurgle, a real laugh, it rang out like gold pieces clattering on a marble floor and both Marianne and George felt a tugging at their heart.

“You are definitely a bad influence,” George informed her. “And we still haven’t introduced ourselves.”

“Should we give him a name?” Marianne asked, gazing down at the golden-haired child in her lap.

“Maybe he has a name,” George said. “Do you have a name?”

The question made the boy look up. He fixed his blue eye son George with a seriousness that should not exist in a child so small and because he could think of nothing else to do, George made an exaggerated movement with his hand and bowed his head. “Welcome, your dragon-ness,” he said. “I am George Enjolras.”

The boy gazed at him questioningly.

“That’s right,” Marianne said, smiling warmly at her husband. She gave a wave of her hand herself. “And I’m Marianne Enjolras.” She gave the boy a gentle look. “We’d like to be your parents if we may.”

The child made a sound that was almost a hum and suddenly he smiled, raised a chubby little hand, made a vague attempt at a wave and said, with a voice that was very young, but surprisingly articulate: “Enjolras!”

The sounds that escaped from both George and Marianne’s mouths were far too emotional to be any sort of coherent.

“Alright,” George said, voice trembling. “What a pleasure to meet you, Enjolras.”

“Our own little Enjolras.”

Neither of the new parents (and more inexperienced and overwhelmed parents there had never been) had any attention left over for anything besides their son. Enjolras seemed to light up the room and warm the air around him with no more effort than simply existing.

It was not until later that his parents found out this was indeed a thing he did. Enjolras might look human, he had dragon fire in his soul and it radiated all around him like the rays of the sun.

They still had a great deal to learn about baby dragons and were at that moment still completely unaware of quite how steep a learning curve this was going to be. They would learn soon enough however, that bewildering as it was to raise a child, raising a dragon came with special challenges. Like the time Enjolras pushed a freshly made pie out of the heated oven to climb into it himself. Or the first time his parents tried to give him a bath and he boiled the water, steaming up the entire bathroom and drenching both his parents. Or the time he was lost for an hour because he had dragged all the blankets off his bed and gone to sleep in a nest in his closet instead. Not to mention the countless objects, big and small, that fell victim to the dragonish hoarding tendencies of a child that, while extremely intelligent and well-spoken for his age, was certainly not less impulsive because of it.

No, at this point in time Marianne and George were blissfully unaware of all these trials to come. All they knew was how happy they were and how hard they were going to work to make this boy, their son, _Enjolras_ , as happy as they possibly could. Of course such feelings were too overwhelming to leave room for anything else, which is why they must be forgiven for thinking that on this wonderful night they had stolen a baby. Because of course this was not at all what had happened. On this wonderful night, a young dragon had started his first treasured hoard. It was a hoard of two. Two parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in past tense because it is part of the past ^^  
> Marianne and George are named after Marianne, the personification of France and George from George and the Dragon. I hope you like them, because even though they were hard to write I really do <3


	14. Spring Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Dove for her meet-cute headcanon (and drawing!), to Nicole for her tags about Enjolras steaming in water, to Débora for their gushing about spring tide and to my sister for listening to me complain about this and betaing at lightning speed <3

 

There’s nothing like a spring tide storm to lure every thinking, feeling creature in the sea towards the coast. And this _is_ a proper spring tide. The moon is a mere ghost in the sky, the sea foams, and packs of heavy clouds chase each other overhead.

Grantaire’s spirits are as high as the waves and his head is spinning with the energy in the air. The sea is downright crowded. The waves are dotted with shadowy shapes and Grantaire cannot remember the last time he saw so many selkies, merrows and mermaids together.

The wind is blurring their many different voices together into a joyful, wordless din. Grantaire’s entire family is here and a few metres away Éponine is chasing a beautiful white swan Grantaire know must be Cosette Fauchelevent. Still, he has very little attention for any of this, because on the edge of a jagged rock leaning out across the water Enjolras just appeared. It’s dark on the rocks edging the beach, but Grantaire would recognize Enjolras’ form even in the darkest shadows. Enjolras does not have that advantage, however, and after casting a frustrated look across the waves he puts his hand to his mouth and yells:

“Grantaire!”

Grantair has already swum up the rock by then and he clicks his tongue. “Give me a moment,” he grins. “I can only swim as fast as the water will move me.”

“R!” Enjolras beams and he sinks to his knees on the rock, looking over the edge.

“Hey,” he smiles. “Glad you made it. Sorry I didn’t come to pick you up.” He wanted to, he really did, but leaving the water right now would _hurt,_ he wants to be in the waves so badly.

Enjolras shakes his head decidedly and looks around, excited and just a tad nervous. “It’s beautiful,” he says earnestly. “I had no idea how big the creature community around here was.”

Grantaire hums. The beach is almost as full as the sea. All that are meant to swim can’t bear to be ashore while the sea is so wild and inviting, but the spring tide calls to strangers as well as to old friends of the sea. Grantaire recognizes several of the witches from the nearby town among the shadowy figures on the shore, as well as a few acquaintances of decidedly less human background. Strange lights flicker at the edge of vision and there is music on the wind. Grantaire is sure he heard Bossuet laugh not too long ago, but again, it is hard to pay attention to any of that. Enjolras, kneeling on the rock and completely inattentive to the sea spray, is a sight to behold. His hair is being blown wildly around his head and even though the golden locks are shrouded in darkness, they manage to catch every single glimpse of light coming from either star or lantern.

Grantaire looks up at his boyfriend and grins. “You like it then?”

Enjolras looks how the residents of the sea, made brave by the strength of the water, call out and wave to those on the shore. “It’s amazing,” he sighs. A stray spark ignites in his breath and he laughs apologetically. “So much energy in the air.”

“I know,” Grantaire says elatedly.

Enjolras laughs, looking down at him across the edge of the rock again and leans forward, further towards the waves. He cannot lean down too far without letting go of the rock. “I can’t reach you,” he complains, squinting a little when the seawater splashes towards his face.

Grantaire smirks up at him. “What?” he teases. “Was there something you wanted?”

Enjolras fixes his eyes on him and Grantaire can see the blue even in this darkness. “Come closer,” Enjolras demands. “Kiss me.”

If those words wouldn’t have been enough to heat Grantaire up inside, Enjolras’ tone of voice certainly is. With a pleased laugh, Grantaire grabs hold of the rock to pull himself up. He needs both his hands for that and or a moment getting a good grip takes up all his attention. Which is why he doesn’t see the shadow moving behind Enjolras. Neither does Enjolras, he’s too busy looking at Grantaire.

Until Montparnasse pushes him off the rock that is.

Enjolras doesn’t scream, but he lets out a sharp cry of surprise.

Grantaire turns around just in time to see Enjolras fall. The second he hits the water a loud hissing drowns out the sound of the splash and steam fills the air.

“Wow,” Montparnasse says languidly, lying on his stomach on the rock. “Would you look at that.”

“Crowbait,” Grantaire curses at him and he swims to Enjolras’ side, who has stopped steaming and is treading water with a very resentful expression.

“What the hell!” he yells, tilting his head back to glare daggers in Montparnasse’s general direction. “It’s freezing!”

“Well, not anymore,” Grantaire says, surprised. The water around Enjolras is almost hot.

“Careful Grantaire,” Montparnasse drawls. “Your boyfriend will boil you alive.”

“You _surprised_ me,” Enjolras fumes. “And it’s _cold_.”

“Piss off, Montparnasse,” Grantaire tells him. “Go bother Jehan.” There is a persistent flicker of firelight a little way off on the beach that is unmistakably Jehan dancing.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Montparnasse says, sitting up. He grins at Enjolras with sharp teeth. “Enjoy your bath.”

Before Enjolras can do more than glare Montparnasse has gotten to his feet and slipped back into his animal form. As he gallops away across the beach, Grantaire gives Enjolras an apologetic smile. “Here,” he says, extending a hand. “I’ll help you ashore.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras says, clambering back onto the rock with Grantaire’s help.

“For what, Parnasse being an ass?” Grantaire quips.

Enjolras turns to look at him, his hair stuck wet against his cheeks and forehead. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says. “By being in the water, I mean.”

Grantaire gives him a bemused look. “Why would that make me uncomfortable?”

Now Enjolras looks bemused. “I don’t know...” he admits. “But, that time we met- I thought you didn’t- You seemed kind of freaked out by me being in the water.”

Grantaire gives Enjolras a perplexed look. “Yeah, I was,” he says. “Because I’d only ever seen you on the beach! I was…startled.” He had been more than startled actually. He had been so shocked to suddenly be under water and eye in eye with the handsome stranger he had dreamily watched whenever he was beachcombing, that he nearly just fled. Grantaire still blames the universe for having Enjolras be almost completely undressed the first time he ever had a chance to speak to him. Come to think of it, he probably made a complete fool of himself then. At least he clearly managed to convince Enjolras he didn’t appreciate him swimming. “I thought you didn’t like the water much,” he says awkwardly. “Like…cold or something.”

Enjolras wipes his hair out of his face and Grantaire sees that he is already drying up. “You met me while I was _snorkelling_ ,” he says incredulously.

“You didn’t look like you were having a very good time,” Grantaire defends himself.

“Well, I couldn’t find the pebble,” Enjolras mutters.

Grantaire gazes up at him. “Wait, so, you wouldn’t mind swimming?” There’s a thrill of excitement in his chest now. If he can have Enjolras _with_ him. With him in the spring tide. He can hardly think of anything better. “You wouldn’t be cold?”

“Course not,” Enjolras says. “I’m a dragon.”

“You complain about the cold a _lot_ ,” Grantaire points out with a smirk.

“That’s because it is cold a _lot_ ,” Enjolras sniffs. “What I meant is it doesn’t harm me, I can warm myself up.”

Grantaire gives an excited swish of his tail. “So…would you like to go further out into the sea?” he asks.

Enjolras looks nervous suddenly and glances across the water. “The sea’s pretty rough,” he says. “I’m not that good of a swimmer.”

“I am.” Grantaire says. He’s not bragging. He really is. No one has to be afraid of sinking when they’re swimming with a selkie.

The heat radiating off of Enjolras increases for a moment. He glances out at the sea again and then he suddenly raises his head in defiance. “Well, why not? I’m drenched already, aren’t I.” He makes a grab for his shoelaces in the dark. “Give me a sec.”

Grantaire turns round in the water impatiently while Enjolras takes off his shoes and socks and throws them up on the rock. Barefooted he climbs back down to where the water foams wilder and wilder. He hesitates for a moment and then he lets himself slip into the waves.

.

The water is _way_ too cold, but Enjolras is prepared for it now and there’s no steam this time. His dragon fire is fighting the cold, but Enjolras can keep it in check.

“Alright?” Grantaire asks, with a grin as wide as his face. He’s swimming around Enjolras and it suddenly strikes Enjolras how effortless his boyfriend moves. Grantaire’s form is solid and rather heavily set, but he moves so lightly through the waves. Enjolras has always liked to see him swim, he’s elegant and quick when he swims, but he’s never seen it from this close before.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire repeats.

“What, yes, I’m fine,” Enjolras answers hastily.

“The sea is distracting isn’t it,” Grantaire says happily and he lets himself fall back onto the waves, disappearing under water for a moment.

Now Grantaire mentions it, Enjolras has to agree that there is something unusual about the sea tonight. Perhaps it has something to do with the crowd, but the waves seem to be churning around him and the seafoam is almost glittering at the edge of his vision. His clothes are soaked through now and Enjolras wonders if he should have taken off more than his shoes. The wet cloth is heavy. “Where did you want to go?” he asks.

“Out there,” Grantaire says eagerly, pointing to the open sea.

To Enjolras there is hardly anything but darkness there, just like the water underneath his treading feet is positively black. “Alright,” he laughs nervously.

Grantaire flashes him a grin and takes a dive in the direction he just indicated.

Enjolras is _sure_ he heard him make a joyful noise that was not at all human. He stretches out his arms and tries to swim after his boyfriend. The current won’t let him. It’s already trying to drag him back to the rocks. A noise of frustration leaves Enjolras’ lips and he raises his head to call for Grantaire.

There’s no need. Grantaire is back by his side already. “Want some help?” he offers with a grin.

A wave pushes Enjolras against Grantaire and Enjolras splutters, grabbing onto his shoulders. Grantaire seems to need to make no effort whatsoever to stay afloat. “How would that work?” he asks.

Grantaire grins a little wider. “I could carry you.”

“You-” Enjolras stares at him. The way Grantaire is moving reminds him of the seal pups he sees him playing with sometimes. All eagerness and inability to keep still. “What do you mean carry me,” he protests. You use your arms when you swim.”

“Don’t need to though,” Grantaire says, more energetic than Enjolras has probably ever seen him. “Look.”

Before Enjolras can protest Grantaire scoops him up in his arms, almost lifting him out of the water for a moment. As soon as Grantaire starts moving though, there is suddenly water all around them. Enjolras splutters and wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire is swimming backwards and they are moving a _lot_ faster than Enjolras was prepared for. But no matter how wildly the water splashes up around them, both their heads are safely above water.

“You alright?” Grantaire laughs.

“How are you still so fast?” Enjolras raises his voice above the rushing of the water.

Grantaire doesn’t answer, he just laughs, shaking both himself and Enjolras as he speeds up even more. He doesn’t stop until Enjolras sees dark water all around them and only knows where the shore is because of the faint flickers of light in the distance.

“Is this too far out?” Grantaire asks, voice very cautious all of a sudden. He’s still holding Enjolras, but he has lowered him into the water a little and when Enjolras moves his legs he lets go so he can swim on his own.

Enjolras doesn’t quite let go of Grantaire, he keeps a hand on his shoulder while he treads water. Breathing deeply he looks up at the dark sky. The movement of the clouds is like the movement of the water, wild and increasing. He can hear nothing of the crowd by the shore here, all he hears is the wind. And Grantaire. “No,” Enjolras breathes. “It’s not too far…”

Grantaire smiles and leans back into the waves.

Enjolras feels Grantaire’s hand grab his underwater and Enjolras follows his example until they’re both floating on their backs. The waves push the both of them up and down.

“Tide’s coming in,” Grantaire hums, eyes on the sky. “We won’t drift off.” He seems to hang in the water, completely relaxed and unmoving.

Enjolras has considerably more trouble with that however. Every time a wave reaches his head, it feels like he’s going to sink. He can’t float like Grantaire. He’s not made for it. There’s a tug on his arm. Silently Grantaire pulls Enjolras towards him and Enjolras, because it really seems like the most comfortable option, lets go of his hand and rests the back of his head on Grantaire’s chest. Now he can float just fine.

“Better?” Grantaire asks and Enjolras can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hm,” he hums, smiling. Enjolras vaguely wonders if it’s the sea or Grantaire that is carrying him now. He’s not cold anymore, the steady glow in his chest keeps him warm without effort now. The sea feels alive. Alive and in love with the sky.

“You want to float for a while?” Grantaire asks softly. His voice rumbles in his chest, right under Enjolras’ ears.

“Do you?” he asks. “I like this…” The glow in his chest strengthens a little. “I liked the swimming too.”

Grantaire makes an amused noise. “If I carry you on my back I can go even faster,” he confides. “When we’re done floating, we could race back to the shore.”

Enjolras grins. “Who are we racing?” he asks and he knows Grantaire is grinning too because there is a gloriously playful tone to his voice when he answers:

“The tide.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I struggled with this one! Hope you enjoyed it ^^


	15. Playful Pups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Débora <3
> 
> This is _very_ short, but I haven't been able to write properly lately ^^;;

“One more time?” Gavroche begs.

His little brothers give their best pleading eyes (and seal eyes are particularly suited for pleading).

“Last time,” Enjolras warns.

“Famous last words,” Grantaire chuckles, but he’s pretty sure no one heard him. The pups are too busy counting.

“One,” Gavroche grins. “Two. Three!”

They all give a sweep of their tails, splashing a considerable amount of water on top of Enjolras. There’s a loud hiss and a cloud of steam and Grantaire can feel the intense heat of dragon fire coming off his boyfriend for a second as the water evaporates.

The seal pups cheer. This is a game they will  _never_  get tired of.

“Again! Again!” Matéo and Judoc bark, their voices barely human.

“No,” Enjolras says firmly. “I said this was the last time.”

Their whining is truly pity inspiring, but Enjolras holds firm.

“Alright, fine,” Gavroche sighs, guessing that if they make themselves a nuisance now they might lose an opportunity for future games. “Come on brats, I’ll race you to the far cliff.”

Their departure involves so much splashing Enjolras ends up wet another time anyway.

“Like I said,” Grantaire grins. “Famous last words.”

Enjoras snorts, blowing out a few sparks in the process and heating himself up again. There’s not enough water to actually steam now, but his damp clothes and hair dry up in front of Grantaire’s eyes. He looks at Enjolras with a smile playing in the corner of his lips.

“What?” Enjolras asks.

“Every time you do that-” Grantaire says, smiling wider. “-your hair gets just a  _little_  fluffier.”

“Oh shut up,” Enjolras mutters, turning red and smoothing down his curls.

“Sorry,” Grantaire grins. “It’s adorable though.”

Enjolras mutters again. There’s no water to evaporate and yet Grantaire can feel him burning up. He knows Enjolras thinks it embarrassing, but Grantaire hopes he’ll never stop.


	16. The Swan and the Kelpie

Cosette had thought the moon would light her way, but it does no such thing tonight. The moonbeams tangle with the mist and she cannot see more than a few paces ahead of her as she walks. Cosette has a good sense of direction, but that does not help her much, considering she isn’t quite sure where to go in the first place…

“Out for a moonlight stroll?”

Cosette jumps, spinning round to see where that voice had come from.

A tall young man is standing right behind her, looking part shadow, part moonlight. He looks imposing, but Cosette is pretty sure she knows who this is.

“Montparnasse, right?” she says.

The young man grins, teeth bright in the moonshine. “My reputation precedes me, how nice.” He slants his head. “That must make you Cosette.”

“Yes,” Cosette nods. She is not afraid of Montparnasse, but she is cautious.

“Looking for Éponine?” he asks, in a friendly but slightly too charming tone of voice.

Cosette flushes slightly, but she replies boldly: “Who else.”

“Who else indeed,” Montparnasse chuckles. He has his hands folded behind his back and is looking down at her amusedly. “So, can’t you find her?”

Cosette is a little embarrassed. Usually she flies. “Everything looks different from up in the sky,” she says. “I do not have my feathers today…”

“Ah, so you are stuck being human at present,” Montparnasse hums. “How tragic.” He grins. “Luckily I never have that problem…” He arches his back and it keeps arching, growing higher than it was before.

Cosette takes a quick step back as his hands drop to the ground as hooves. She has never seen a kelpie transform before.

“Sorry,” Montparnasse grins, his human voice sounding rough coming from his animal throat. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Cosette raises her eyebrows just a little. “I think you did,” she says.

“Maybe a little,” he grins and his teeth seem even sharper now. “Come on,” he continues smoothly. “I’ll give you a ride if you want…”

...

“Innocent children approaching, hands where I can see them.”

“I’m gonna need sources for the innocent part,” Grantaire drawls.

“Hi guys,” Enjolras greets Éponine and her fleet of siblings.

Grantaire reaches down to boop some snouts when they crowd around his rock and gives Éponine a lazy grin. It falters a little when he sees her expression. It’s just a little too nonchalant. “Did you need help with something?” He asks, trying to sound neutral.

“I was wondering…” she begins vaguely and Grantaire frowns because Éponine doesn't dance around things.

“Hm?” He presses.

Éponine bites back a sigh. “You haven’t seen Cosette around, have you? I haven’t seen her and I thought she might drop by…”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says and he really means it. “We haven’t seen anyone ashore tonight.”

“Except Montparnasse,” Enjolras corrects.

Grantaire looks round. “Well yeah, but that’s-”

Enjolras gives him a meaningful look.

“No,” Grantaire says. “He wouldn’t.” At least he _really_ hopes he wouldn’t, because if he has Éponine will-

“Wouldn’t what?” Éponine frowns. “You’re not suggesting Parnasse would try to pull his kelpie bullshit on Cosette?”

“No,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras does not look convinced in the slightest. He gives Éponine an earnest look. “Has he ever seen Cosette in her human form?”

Éponine pales and Grantaire’s face falls. “Shit…” he mutters.

 "If he scares off Cosette-“ Éponine hisses, dragging herself ashore and jumping out of her pelt. ”-I’ll braid his manes and _strangle_ him with them.“

Before Grantaire can answer she’s run off.

"Where’s Ponine going?” Azelma asks.

“That depends,” Grantaire hums. “Maybe for a nice stroll. Maybe to kill Montparnasse.”

“R!” Enjolras hisses.

“What?” Grantaire says, feigning genuine shock. “Would you have me _lie_ to the children?”

“Can we go see?” Gavroche gapes.

“No,” Enjolras says.

“I think they should,” Grantaire argues. He’s not missing this for the world. “It’ll be educational.”

“They can’t grow feet yet,” Enjolras points out.

“Excuse you, I can,” Azelma huffs and Gavroche pipes up:

“That is _offensive_. I don’t talk about how you’re not able to grow a tail.”

Enjolras looks stricken for just a second before Grantaire snorts at Gavroche and gives him a splash of water in his face. “Smart ass,” he hums and Gavroche grins.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Enjolras mutters vaguely.

“Very true,” Grantaire nods gravely. “We shall punish you by leaving you ashore while we swim to go see Éponine terrify Montparnasse, what do you say pups?”

Grantaire is met with a chorus of barking agreement.

...

The pebbles of the beach are cold underneath Éponine’s feet. It’s misty and the moonlight that is helpful under water is much less so here. This beach is not yet so familiar to her as it is to Grantaire but she knows her way around. What’s more, she can hear the sound of hooves in the distance.

Éponine knows that Montparnasse is mostly harmless. But he’s still capable of scaring people half to death and she will be damned if she lets him scare off Cosette. She is still running and now she thinks she can see the dark shape of Montparnasse’s animal shape through the mist. If he so much as _looked_ at Cosette the wrong way, she’ll make him pay for it. Sweet, lovely Cosette, who-

Who is being carried on Montparnasse’s back.

Éponine stops dead in her tracks and _gapes_. Montparnasse is galloping across the beach in a wide circle, moving through the mist fluid like water and Cosette is sitting on his back, long hair streaming behind her. She’s not struggling to hold on to him either. Quite the contrary. Right before Éponine’s shocked eyes Cosette swings one leg over the other as if she’s riding side-saddle and then she turns round, facing backwards. That is when she sees Éponine.

“Ponine!” she calls out merrily and she actually waves, holding on to Montparnasse with nothing but her knees.  “Hi!”

“Hi…” Éponine says, doing her level best to express all her incredulity in that one syllable.

Montparnasse is slowing down and he trots towards Éponine with a thoroughly indifferent air.

“What is going on?” she asks, since no one seems disposed give her an explanation.

“Turns out your pretty friend knows how to ride,” Montparnasse says, slowing to a walk. “ _Actually_ knows how to ride.”

“Montparnasse offered to take me to you,” Cosette explains cheerfully. “I hadn’t ridden in so long!”

Éponine gazes up at her in amazement and watches, equal parts alarmed and impressed, how Cosette gets up on her knees and then stands up completely, her feet planted on the still moving Montparnasse’s back.

“Oh I wish I brought the pups,” Éponine breathes.

“I can show them some other time if you like,” Cosette offers. Montparnasse has held still now and she sits down again to slide off his back.

“No you won’t,” he says, shaking his long mane. “And if you tell them, you’re getting a dunking in the water next time.”

“Whatever for?” Cosette laughs, turning to his towering form with a complete absence of fear. “You ride beautifully by the way.”

Montparnasse lets out a smug snort and steps away from her, shrinking back to his human form. “Well, this has been lovely,” he drawls. “But I hear the splish-splash of little fins, which means this is my cue to exit.” He makes a dramatic bow and hurries off further inland, probably towards the graveyard. It’s perfect weather for sprites' to be dancing.

“That-” Éponine says solemnly. “-was the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed. You used Parnasse as a dressage horse.”

“That wasn’t dressage,” Cosette laughs, but before either of them can say anything else Grantaire’s voice calls out through the fog:

“Don’t tell me we missed it.”

“Nothing to see here,” Éponine calls back.

There’s a combined whine of disappointment from both Grantaire and her siblings.

“Good,” another voice mutters and Éponine turns to see Enjolras strolling up to them along the shoreline.

“Hey Enj!” Cosette chimes.

“Hi,” he says with a friendly smile.

“You also on a selkie visit?” she asks.

Éponine doesn’t hear Enjolras’ answer. She doesn’t even hear Cosette’s _reply_ to his answer. Because Cosette has just slipped her hand in Éponine’s and it will probably be a while before Éponine has enough space in her head for rational thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was high time the girls got the spotlight again!
> 
> I used to do vaulting as a child (it’s like gymnastics but on top of a horse), I was _not_ good at it, but if I cancel out the terror I remember something about grace and spirited movement and I think that suits Cosette very well ^_^


	17. The elf, the troll and the vampire

“Aren’t you glad we moved here, Marius?”

Courfeyrac is swinging his feet in a way that makes his friend a little nervous. He’s sitting in the open window, the sunshine and the gentle wind both tangled up in his curls and a brilliant smile on his face.

Marius smiles back. He likes it here too, he really does, there’s just no way he’ll ever match Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm. “Yes,” he says. “Everyone’s been very nice.”

“I _know_ ,” Courfeyrac gushes. He pulls a face. “But why didn’t you come with me to the beach festival? You could have met Enjolras! You’ll like Enjolras. I met _so_ many nice people there! There was a mer-” He corrects himself. “-jiaoren called Joly dancing with Bossuet! They were so cute together!”

Marius nods gently. Courfeyrac is always meeting new people, he can’t keep up. Tall, cheerful Bossuet _is_ nice though and so is Combeferre. Marius isn’t quite sure if Combeferre likes _him_ , but he did lend him some books and that was very kind. Marius prefers reading to running around the town talking to strangers. Inconvenient, because that seems to be Courfeyrac’s favourite pastime lately. Well, his favourite pastime but one.

“How long do you think until sundown?” Courfeyrac asks merrily, swinging his feet again.

“It’s only just past noon,” Marius reminds him.

“I know, I know,” Courfeyrac sighs. He smiles at Marius. “I have new buttons to sew on my green coat. Will you read to me?”

“You don’t have to do the big eyes, you know,” Marius tells him with a laugh. “I always say yes.” He likes reading aloud and it’s nice to read while Courfeyrac is rummaging around.

“Yes, but I have to practise on someone,” Courfeyrac winks and he slides down from the windowsill.

♣

With reading and talking and whatever else can fill an afternoon evening arrives and with it the dark. Courfeyrac is humming to himself and moving through the room as usual, but he’s at the window a _lot_. He doesn’t even seem to realize this, but Marius does. When Courfeyrac is back at his desk again, Marius goes to the window himself. He looks at the sky, that is really turning black now and says, rather suddenly:

I think I will go out.”

"Really?” Courfeyrac says, looking up in surprise.

“Yes…” Marius says slowly. “I…I think I’d like to be out in the moonlight.”

“Is the moon so bright tonight?” Courfeyrac is very inattentive to such things. He is aware of people much more than of nature, no matter how much he loves to be outdoors.

“No, but it is very pretty anyway,” Marius rambles. “And I would like to walk a bit. It is quieter at night. I mean there are less people, but it’s also quieter. Probably also because there are less people.”

“Alright, of course,” Courfeyrac smiles. He hesitates. “Shall I come with?”

Marius shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “I know you wanted to stay in tonight.”

The truth is that _that_ is what this is about. The past couple nights Courfeyrac has gone to see Combeferre and at the end of the afternoon he suddenly said that he’s staying home today. And so far he has kept his word.

That means – at least Marius hopes so – that Combeferre will show up _here_ before long and he’s sure Combeferre at least would appreciate the privacy. Courfeyrac may think he is oblivious to most things, but Marius isn’t blind. He can see Combeferre likes Courfeyrac. That’s kind of to be expected of course. Everyone likes Courfeyrac. Or at least they _should_ , Marius thinks. Wherever they go Courfeyrac has people that want to be close to him.

But this time it’s a little different, because Marius is pretty sure that Courfeyrac – who is usually Very Good at These Things, is being a bit…well…weird.

Like the not going out. Marius is _sure_ Courfeyrac wants to see Combeferre and yet he doesn’t go. Marius knows why. It’s because he went yesterday _and_ the day before that and Courfeyrac doesn’t want to bother Combeferre too much. But that is a very Marius thing to worry about, not at all a Courfeyrac thing.

And there are other things too. Courfeyrac talks a lot – that is not weird, he always talks a lot – but then sometimes he is suddenly quiet and other times he looks at Combefere like he _wants_ to say something but doesn’t, and sometimes he just sighs in the most untrollish way. And he _only_ does those things around Combeferre. Which is why Marius has decided that as a good friend the kind thing in this particular instance is to _not_ be there.

The moon really is beautiful though. Marius doesn’t mind the clouds obscuring it whenever they pass by. He stands on the doorstep just outside the house for a moment and just watches. The night _is_ quiet…

There’s a soft, polite noise and Marius looks away from the sky. Combeferre is standing at a considerate distance. “Oh!” Marius says.

“Good evening,” Combeferre says, smiling slightly.

“Hi,” Marius says happily. “We were hoping you’d come. I mean, I hoped you would, because I’m sure Courfeyrac does too.” He steps aside hastily. “I’m going for a walk!”

Combeferre looks half-embarrassed, half-grateful. “Alright,” he says. “Enjoy your walk then?”

“I will,” Marius nods. “Thank you.” He steps past Combeferre and adds helpfully: “Courf is upstairs.”

Combeferre smiles as he goes inside and Marius walks down the part of the street that is lit by the most moonlight. This is a good night for a walk. Yes. He’ll make it an extra long one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit...quiet this one, but wanted to practise my Marius and Courferre needed a little push <3


	18. What it's like having a dragon for a son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little snippet from Enjolras' father's point of view, with a thankful bow to Burntblackfeathers and In-love-and-liberty and a wink to my sister <3

George Enjolras makes it a point never to walk up- or downstairs empty-handed. There is always something that needs to go either up or down after all. That is why he is carrying a box of sewing materials when he walks past his son's room on the way to the stairs.

Privacy is an agreed upon universal right in the Enjolras household, but the door is open, so George glances in to see how his son is getting on with his friends. Especially since it's so quiet.

It turns out they are reading. ...in a rather unconventional fashion.

George holds still in the doorway and observes with puzzled amusement that Enjolras' boyfriend Grantaire (a selkie), Enjolras' best friend Combeferre (a vampire) and Enjolras' _new_ best friend Courfeyrac (a troll, _not_ an elf) are sitting side by side on Enjolras' bed, leaning their backs against the wall. This leaves no room to sit for Enjolras, who has instead draped himself stretched out across their legs. He's lying on his stomach with his legs across Combeferre's lap on one side, his arms folded across Grantaire's lap on the other side and Courfeyrac supporting him in between. His book is resting against a pillow, just like the books of his friends are resting on his legs, back and shoulders respectively.

"You're welcome to borrow the chair from my study if you need it, son," George offers with a smile.

Four pairs of eyes look up at him in surprise, clearly not having heard his quiet footsteps approaching.

“A chair?” Ejolras says, blue eyes frowning slightly. “Why?

The looks George is getting from his son’s friends are equally surprised, only Grantaire gives him a wide, twinkle-eyed grin.

"Right," George says, nodding his head. "Silly question. Carry on."

The four sets of eyes return to their pages, Grantaire still smirking, and George resumes his way, carrying the box down the stairs with a smile on his face. He's thankful they moved here every single day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Love of Lore will continue slowly and steadily, but in case you're interested in my other writing, I have started a fluffy, modern vampire au: [Fangs and Flower Power](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941229/chapters/29577465)!


	19. Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story has been on the back burner and me calling it a story is exactly the problem. This was supposed to be a series of fun one-shots, without me worrying about plot or chronological structure. I nearly gave up on the ideas I still had left because I was overthinking it all. This is some Eposette I wrote a while ago and I'm posting it to breathe new life into this _collection_.

The sun rises on what had been a very dark and misty night. Montparnasse is not above resenting the light that chases his darling spark back to their graveyard and his handsome face is still full of disappointment when he walks back into the waves. Ever since he met Jehan the nights are never long enough. In his mind he can still hear their laughter echo off the cliffs…

He is not the only one on the beach though and Montparnasse quite happy to join Éponine and her siblings, if anything it is a distraction. As soon as the little ones spot him he is swarmed and it takes a while before he manages to reach the rock that Éponine is lounging on.

“Morning,” he yawns and beyond a pleased, but vague noise of acknowledgement he gets very little reply.

Come to think of it, Éponine doesn’t look much more awake than him. Montparnasse smirks. “Spent the night chasing water fowl?” he asks.

“Shut up,” Éponine mutters, but it’s too late.

“What’s foul?” Judoc asks, human voice clumsy in his seal mouth.

“Your sister’s temper is foul,” Montparnasse says smoothly. “And fowl is another word for birds.”

“Like swans,” Azelma says innocently.

“Exactly, Zelma, like swans,” Montparnasse grins.

“Is this about Cosette?” Matéo asks suspiciously and as he speaks his snout shows a glimmer of human features for just a moment.

“No,” Gavroche says with an obnoxious grin. “This is about Ponine’s girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Montparnasse snorts and Gavroche crows:

“Yeah, right, that’s why you’re walking hand in hand with her making moonrise eyes at her.”

“That doesn’t make her my girlfriend,” Éponine grumbles and to Montparnasse’s surprise there is an edge to her voice.

“You want her to be your girlfriend,” Azelma teases.

“Yeah, well,” Éponine huffs. “We haven’t exactly talked about that sort of stuff.”

“She kissed you last night,” Matéo barks, seal voice full of glee and Azelma gasps delightedly.”

“On the _cheek_ ,” Éponine protests, face burning. “And mind your own business!”

Judoc’s black eyes look worried for a moment. “She doesn’t try to take your pelt, does she?”

Montparnasse stifles a laugh, Gavroche and Azelma don’t bother. They splash in the water with glee.

“She might!” Judoc protests.

“Yeah, Éponine, watch out,” Montparnasse grins. “Swans mate for life, don’t they?”

“Shut your horse mouth,” Éponine snarks and she strokes Judoc over his round head. “I’m not going anywhere Juju and Zette would never do such a thing.”

Her tone is a bit too soft and Montparnasse gives her a sideways glance. Éponine’s siblings must have sensed the joke has worn thin as well, because the subject drops and not long after Azelma goes for a swim in her human form (she’s practicing) and Gavroche slides into the water as well, to chase his little brothers. Éponine stays on the rock and Montparnasse carefully avoids looking at her when he says:

“So, why haven’t you talked to her?”

Éponine groans.

“Oh come on,” Montparnasse bristles. “That girl is annoyingly besotted with you.”

Cosette and Éponine are nearly as bad as Enjolras and Grantaire

Éponine looks at him. “You really think so?”

Montparnasse rolls his eyes. “No, she clearly can’t stand you. That’s why she keeps coming down her, flitting about the beach in nothing but feathers.”

Éponine’s tan skin flushes red.

Montparnasse smirks at her. “Seriously, what’s the holdup?”

“I don’t know,” Éponine laments, stretching out on the rock again. “I want to ask her properly, but there’s never a right time.”

Montparnasse opts for sympathetic silence, because this is a load of unnecessary nonsense and he doesn’t trust himself to speak without showing it.

Éponine’s brown eyes flit to his. “She asked if I want to go into town with her sometime…”

Montparnasse grins. “You want to go?”

“Yes?” Éponine says nervously.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

Éponine snorts. “How are _you_ going to help?”

Montparnasse gives her a warning glance. “Well, for starters,” he smirks. “I’ll get you some clothes a damn sight better than that paltry stash you keep in that stinky abandoned fisherman’s hut.”

…

For all Montparnasse’s faults, he does know clothes and Éponine graciously informs him that Cosette was very taken with the dress he put her in. She _doesn’t_ tell him that when she asked Cosette to be her girlfriend Cosette spent the first minute blushing and blinking confusedly because she was under the impression she already was. She’d never hear the end of it if she did. Not that Éponine would care that much. She doesn’t care about anything right now. Cosette is her girlfriend. It’s like eternal high tide in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and thank you for your patience ^^;;
> 
> (Knightinbrightfeathers, if you're still here, this was inspired by your comment <3 )


	20. In the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my darling sister <3
> 
> (I'm a little nervous my vampire fic is bleeding (hah) into this one, but bear with me)

Courfeyrac _adores_ a dance. The music, the movement, the energy.

That is one of the things he has never understood about humans: that they only ever seem to dance at night. In the woods where he grew up they danced by day as well as by night, making every sun-drenched clearing in the trees into a dance floor. Humans aren’t like that it seems. They need the cover of darkness and artificial light to give their joy free rein.

Of course Marius is much the same. Courfeyrac can never get him to dance in the light. At first Courfeyrac thought that it was an elvish thing, starlight and moonlight and such. But he has since learned that there are many elves that _do_ dance in the full view of day.

Still, for the rare joy of dancing with his friend Courfeyrac has learned to appreciate the cover of darkness. And nowadays he has a second reason to value it.

“How can you say you never dance?” Courfeyrac laughs, all breathless delight. “You dance brilliantly!”

Combeferre smiles. He, of course, is not out of breath, but his clothes are slightly out of order and his hair is not as neat as it usually is. Courfeyrac thinks it looks very good on him.

“I was nervous,” he confesses. “I was afraid I’d step on your feet.”

“Troll feet are too fast to be stepped on,” Courfeyrac quips, swishing his tail. “And you never came close to stepping on my feet. You’re a much better dancer than you pretend to be.”

“Isn’t it a great partner that makes a great dancer?” Combeferre says.

Courfeyrac laughs. His own talent has very little to do with Combeferre obvious proficiency, but he never quarrels with compliments. At least not when they’re so prettily phrased and delivered by such a lovely voice.

The musicians take up a different song and Courfeyrac cheerfully draws closer to Combeferre, moving to follow the much slower rhythm. Combeferre hesitates for a moment, but then he wraps his arm around Courfeyrac’s waist and turns them both around to join the other couples. Among those couples are several friends, which makes Courfeyrac smile even wider. He can see Enjolras and Grantaire (dancing rather terribly, he’ll have to do something about that soon) and Cosette and Éponine dancing near them. Well, Cosette is dancing, Éponine alternates between swaying and trying to slyly kiss Cosette’s cheeks whenever she turns her head.

Courfeyrac looks away, smiling up at Combeferre again. He’d quite like to follow Éponine’s example, but he doesn’t quite dare. Combeferre did ask him out to the fair, but he never said it was a date…and there always seem to be people watching them…

“Quite the crowd,” Combeferre says, voice low.

Courfeyrac hums. Apart from the three young couples all the guests are human. At least as far as Courfeyrac knows, it is not always easy to tell. His eyes meet Combeferre’s and Courfeyrac lets his face relax into an impish smile.

“Can I ask you a nosy question?”

“Ask whatever you like,” Combeferre smiles. “I give no promises about answers though.”

Courfeyrac lowers his voice a little. “How many people in the village know you’re vampiric?”

“I imagine quite a lot more now than before I met you,” Combeferre replies after a short, amused silence.

“How come?” Courfeyrac asks, pressing a little closer still.

“I smile too much lately,” Combeferre says softly and he smiles again as he says it, making Courfeyrac wish very hard that there weren’t quite so many people around so they’d have a _little_ more privacy.

Maybe Combeferre is thinking the same thing, because when this piece of music ends, he gently pulls Courfeyrac to the side. Courfeyrac lets him and they slowly stroll away from the crowd, leaving the cheerful lamplight of the fair behind in favour of the gentle darkness.

Courfeyrac is walking on Combeferre’s arm and he really doesn’t care where they’re walking. His head is as light as his heart right now and he feels like coaxing for more answers.

“Is it true that trolls smell different from humans?”

This time Combeferre laughs softly and oh that is a sound Courfeyrac could listen to all night. “I don’t know enough trolls to be able to tell you that,” he says.

“You’re saying _I_ don’t smell different?” Courfeyrac gasps. “I am _insulted_.”

Combeferre laughs again, which was all Courfeyrac wanted, but he adds:

“Everyone smells different. I don’t…talk about it. It’s impolite. Freaks people out, probably rightfully so. But everyone has their own smell.”

Courfeyrac looks up at him. They’re still walking slowly and Combeferre has his eyes on the dark road ahead of them that he can probably see a lot better than Courfeyrac. He can’t resist… “What do I smell like?”

Combeferre doesn’t look at him. “It isn’t like that,” he mutters, holding still and looking up at the sky. “It’s not like a normal smell, it’s...the things you’re reminded of when you smell it.”

“Well…” Courfeyrac says, glancing up at the stars, but soon lowering his eyes to Combeferre again. “What memories do I smell of?”

There’s an odd sort of silence and Courfeyrac is about to change the subject when Combeferre finally meets his gaze again. Courfeyrac’s heart skips a happy beat and he waits a little longer.

Combeferre looks at him almost as if he’s lost in thought, but when he speaks his words are carefully chosen. “Like…sunshine pouring through green leaves.”

Courfeyrac smiles, but Combeferre isn’t done.

“And apples,” he says. “Red ones.”

His face looks like it would be red too if it was possible for him to blush and Courfeyrac looks up at him, rapt and waiting for more. Combeferre _looks_ like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.

“What else?” Courfeyrac prompts, very softly.

Combeferre leans forward just a little and Courfeyrac lifts his face in response. With movements as careful as their first dance that evening Combeferre lets his lips touch Courfeyrac’s. His lips are cool but his kiss is warm and Courfeyrac’s heart sings within him. Combeferre slowly pulls back again. “And like that,” he murmurs.

Courfeyrac can feel his face glowing. “Well,” he says, happiness warm in his voice. “I don’t see how I can remind you of that, because I’m pretty sure you’ve never done that before.”

Combeferre is still smiling and his eyes seem to have caught the light of the stars. “No, but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

The smile on Courfeyrac’s face puts the stars to shame. “Really?” he hums. “Good.” And with that he raises himself up on the toes of his bare feet and loops his arms around Combeferre’s neck for a second kiss. Because if they’ve _both_ been thinking about this all this time they have to make up for an awful lot of lost time and they better start right now if they’re going to make any sort of progress before sunup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record: Grantaire is a very good dancer, _in the water._ Feet are difficult.


	21. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some romantic dancing for Lizzie/Awholelotofbooks ^_^

The sun is sinking, drowning into the sea and turning it into molten gold. This light would turn even the palest shade of yellow warm, and Enjolras’ hair is like golden fire crowning his head. Grantaire says nothing, but he looks, squeezing Enjolras’ hand as they stroll along the beach. It’s a beautiful evening and Grantaire enjoys the warmth of the last sun on his bare shoulders.

Suddenly a sweeping sound drifts out towards the sea from somewhere further inland. Enjolras raises his head in surprise and they both stop walking as the sounds start to weave together into music.

“Nix violins,” Grantaire hums. “Two of them.”

“I’ve never heard that before,” Enjolras says, amazed.

“I’ve never been able to hear them from all the way over here,” Grantaire murmurs.

The water spirits’ music is sweet. It goes round and round in slow circles and even though Grantaire isn’t human, he can feel it tugging at his soul all the same.

Enjolras does not seem so very affected, but he listens with obvious admiration.

Grantaire is already holding his hand, it’s very little effort to turn towards Enjolras a little more, to wrap an arm around his waist…

“What are you doing?” Enjolras says, smiling as Grantaire pulls him into a swaying movement.

“Tricking you into dancing with me again after the mess I made of it at the fair,” Grantaire hums close to his ear.

Enjolras laughs softly and Grantaire feels the familiar, treasured spike in temperature that comes with it.

The fair had been a trial. Dancing on land is just not Grantaire’s thing and Enjolras moved formally, having had lessons Grantaire never did. Moreover, Grantaire had not been familiar with the human dances played by the townspeople. But _this_ is music he knows. This is the song that the wind and the water sing. Even on feet he can dance to this. Well, almost.

Enjolras goes barefoot more often than not these days and he is barefoot tonight. So Grantaire has no scruples in slowly leading his boyfriend further down the beach, to where to waves wash gently ashore. Enjolras winces slightly when the first wave washes over their feet, but Grantaire pulls him a little closer before he can draw back. Enjolras’ skin glows against his and that could be as much a reaction to Grantaire as to the coldness of the water.

Standing in the waves, even if it’s with his feet, every movement feels more natural. Grantaire follows the circles of the melody and the seafoam around their ankles swirls with them. Enjolras is not taking his rehearsed steps now, his movements are an echo of Grantaire’s and he holds on to him in a way that makes Grantaire wish the nix will never stop playing.

The water is cool on his skin and Enjolras is soft in his arms, but suddenly Grantaire smells a hint of fire in the air. He looks into Enjolras’ face and his cheeks are as red as the scales scattered across them.

The kiss Grantaire suddenly presses on Enjolras’ lips is part of the dance. It always has been. And Enjolras knows the steps, because he kisses him back until Grantaire can taste the fire on his tongue. He only pulls away because he has to. This is part of the dance too.

“I love you.”

Grantaire did not mean for his voice to come out so hoarse. The sounds of the sea are at the edge of his words and it’s as if the sea breeze is spilling from his lips as he speaks.

Enjolras’ eyes are fixed on him and impossibly bright and blue. They are still dancing and Enjolras echoes his words just like he does Grantaire’s footsteps. Except in _his_ words there isn’t the rush of the sea, but the warm, distant crackle of dragon fire.


	22. Hoards of Cravings Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a comment from LittlePalma (thank you!), with some much needed help from my sister and published early for Débora <3

Enjolras knows it’s ridiculous, but he’s nervous. It’s weird to wait at home for Grantaire to show up instead of going down to the beach. Besides, Grantaire has never been over for _dinner_ before. Enjolras listens to the clattering of stuff elsewhere in the house. His mother must be pretty nervous too, because she’s been rummaging around half the afternoon.

“Mum?” Enjolras pushes open the door to the living room. “What are you doing? You—”

He freezes. The living room table is littered with notebooks. Notebooks he recognizes all too well.

His mother fondly refers to them as The Accounts and they contain her lists (accompanied by very detailed sketches) of all the things he has hoarded over the years. If it were up to his mother, she would probably have saved everything (Enjolras sometimes argues with her over which one of them is supposed to be the dragon) but the only way to really stop hoarding a hoard is to leave it behind. That’s why he’s hung up again on that damn button hoard that she kept. But he can just about manage looking at the written accounts of it all without feeling the craving come back. That does not save him from cringing though. Buttons may be a cute baby hoard, some of them he’d really rather forget.

“Mum _no_ ,” he says indignantly, mildly horrified.

His mother looks up guiltily, but grins. “Oh come on,” she says. “Your _boyfriend_ is coming for dinner.”

“ _No_ ,” Enjolras says.

“What?” his father’s voice comes from behind him, concerned. “Is Grantaire not coming after all?”

Enjolras turns around. “No, he is. Dad, tell her to put them away!”

His father leans to the side to glance past him, Enjolras has been taller than him since his sixteenth birthday. “Oh,” he laughs, seeing the notebooks. “Well, you really should have seen that coming.”

Enjolras groans. He really should have.

“I haven’t looked at these in ages,” his mother says lovingly.

“Well, we can look at them _later_ ,” Enjolras says firmly. “When—”

“Hello?”

Enjolras jumps and gulps down a mouthful of sparks, coughing up smoke.

“Oh, did I leave the door open?” his father hums distractedly and Enjolras darts past him.

Grantaire is standing in the open doorway, barefoot, but dressed in slightly oversized human clothes. Enjolras looks for his pelt, but he doesn’t see it anywhere.

“Gave it to Ponine for safekeeping,” Grantaire says sheepishly, before Enjolras can ask.

“Oh, ok,” Enjolras nods. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Grantaire without his pelt. Even when he’s clothed he has it with him. “Doesn’t…doesn’t that make you uncomfortable?” he asks cautiously.

Grantaire shuffles his feet. “A bit?”

Enjolras frowns. “You should have brought it,” he says earnestly. “You didn’t even have to dress up, you know that right.”

“Well,” Grantaire says vaguely, rubbing at the back of his neck under his collar. He looks up, grey eyes smiling, but embarrassed. “I wanted to look nice okay?”

“You always look nice,” Enjolras says emphatically and he suddenly realizes he hasn’t even kissed Grantaire yet, which is an unacceptable oversight on his part.

Grantaire hums appreciatively when Enjolras quickly wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss to his lips. He does look good in his clothes. The shirt is green. Enjolras has never seen him in green before.

“Are your parents…?” Grantaire asks when Enjolras lets go.

Enjolras glances back down the hallway. “Respectfully waiting in the living room, I’m guessing.”

“Very respectful,” his mother calls back. “You did leave the door open though.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and takes Grantaire’s hand. “Come on.”

Of course Grantaire knows his parents already, but they’ve never spent an entire evening together. Enjolras is glad to see his parents go out of their way to make Grantaire feel welcome, even if he hadn’t expected anything less of them.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Grantaire says laughingly. He looks around. “I keep forgetting how much…stuff there is.”

Enjolras father laughs at that. “Well, this is a dragonish household, we take after our son you know.”

“Dad…” Enjolras mutters, but Grantaire is beaming looking around at all the books and knickknacks.

“What are those?” he asks curiously, pointing to the colourful notebooks stacked on a side-table.

Enjolras sighs.

“He asked!” his mother cheers and she gleefully grabs the first one off the pile.

“I tried,” his father smiles and Enjolras snorts. He doesn’t mind anymore though, because Grantaire seems to have forgotten all his discomfort and is making distinctly selkie noises of delight at whatever his mother is showing him.

“I tried to tell him that hoarding pretty leaves doesn’t work,” she smiles. “He always got so upset when the colours faded.”

“I was _four_ ,” Enjolras protests, trying not to smile.

“Oh!” his mother says delightedly. “Let me find the sweets one. It took us a really long time to find out he was keeping all his treats under his bed instead of eating them. Never did find out why the ants didn’t get to it.”

Enjolras sniffs. “Ants wouldn’t go near a dragon hoard.”

“These drawings are awesome,” Grantaire says admiringly, turning over a page with sketches that show a variety of rather expensive-looking jewellery.

“Thank you,” Marianne beams. She looks at her own rendition of a pearl necklace and drops her voice to confide in Grantaire: “That was when he was six. We had to have a talk about other people’s property after that.”

Enjolras feels his cheeks glow hot, but he stands his ground. He’s not proud of anything he ever stole, but he will never apologize for taking Aunt Agatha’s necklace. She left it lying around simply to brag.

Besides, Grantaire’s eyes are twinkling with amusement and fondness and there is not much room for any apologetic feelings in Enjolras chest right now. “Move over,” he says, gently pulling a big red book out of his mother’s hands and sitting down in between her and Grantaire. “The silver spoon one is in here, right?”

“You collected _spoons_?” Grantaire gushes.

Enjolras hums, he’s still fond of the spoons. He can still feel the tugging somewhere left of his heart. But only a little. “Hoarded, not collected,” he says.

“Oh, right,” Grantaire grins. “Sorry.” And he drops a kiss on his cheek.

There are more gushing noises. This time from his mother and father.

Enjolras pretends not to hear. This was a good idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying very hard to breathe new life into this. Thank you for reading and bear with me ^^;


	23. And the cliffs look over the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unerwater kisses, inspired by this amazing drawing by my utterly wonderful friend Débora: http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/post/173539983713/apparently-we-are-supposed-to-draw-mermaids-sea

“Careful!” Grantaire’s hand closes around Enjolras’ forearm just in time to help keep him upright.

Enjolras puts his feet down more steadily, breathing through the startled thumping of his heart that came with losing his balance.

“Told you to take off your flip flops,” Grantaire scolds fondly. His own feet are bare and they find their way up the slippery cliff with remarkable ease.

“You shouldn’t be this good at climbing,” Enjolras mutters resentfully, holding on to Grantaire as he searches for a new foothold.

“Are you kidding?” Grantaire grins and for a moment his eyes seem to flash sky-blue. “I went up and down these cliffs all night every night as soon as I found my feet.”

Enjolras thinks of a young selkie scrambling out of the water and onto the rocks, face lifted determinedly towards the highest peak. He grins. “I should have guessed.”

“You really should have,” Grantaire nods gravely, climbing further. “Seeing as I’m a frightful flash-flood, always running about on feet in a loose pelt, going on land _during the day_. Shocking.”

Enjolras laughs, but it’s true. The only selkies he ever sees are Grantaire and Éponine and the pups. “Does your family mind?” he asks, looking up at him.

The wind is tugging on Grantaire’s curls and he suddenly looks very tall, standing there a few steps higher than Enjolras, with his spotted shoulders bare in the sunlight. “Oh they’ve given up on me long ago,” Grantaire winks, holding out his hand for Enjolras to take. “Almost there.”

A few steps more and Enjolras finds himself being pulled onto the very top peak of the cliff. The sun pours down around them and for a moment everything is sky. Then Enjolras sees the sea and he blows out a stunned breath.

“I know, right?” Grantaire sighs. He’s still holding on to Enjolras’ hand, but his eyes are scanning the horizon. Waves as far as the eye can see.

Or wait, no. Surprised, Enjolras looks towards a streak of dark in the shimmering water. Sandbanks. Sandbanks absolutely _full_ of seals. “R,” Enjolras begins, pointing hesitantly. “Are those…?”

“Yup, that’s the herd,” Grantaire says with a vague grin. “It’s sunbathing time.” He gives Enjolras a half-laughing grin. “It usually is.”

Enjolras smiles. “Sounds like they’ve got their priorities straight.”

“Hm,” Grantaire hums and he comes to stand a little closer. The wind is pushing against the both of them, much stronger here than it is down on the beach.

Enjolras slips an arm around Grantaire’s waist and steals a glance at his face.

Grantaire is looking at the sea below and his face is so lit up with love that Enjolras has to swallow down sparks. He looks down as well. At the blue speckled with silver, at the swaying waves, at the bursts of brilliant foam that jump up whenever the water embraces the rocks.

When he lifts up his eyes, Grantaire is looking at him with a grin that is just a little too wide. Enjolras feels a swirl of nerves in his stomach.

“No,” he says hastily.

“You really want to climb all the way down?” Grantaire says, that eager grin dancing wildly in his eyes.

Enjolras glances down the cliff. It’s a _very_ long way down. “So that’s what you meant with ‘up and down the cliffs’, hm?” he swallows.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Grantaire says, a spark of worry on his face.

“No…” Enjolras says cautiously. He isn’t, not exactly. He’s just not very fond of _falling_. There is only one time in his life he managed a partial transformation and it had definitely not been intentional. His parents had banned him from climbing roofs after that particular incident, dragonish urges to be high up or not.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Grantaire assures him. “The sea is there to catch us.”

The way he says it, like this is a fact that can’t fail to be comforting, makes Enjolras laugh through his nerves. “I’m not a selkie, remember,” he laughs.

“No, but you’re with one,” Grantaire says, dropping his voice a little. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Enjolras looks at him and reconsiders. He must be insane. “Okay,” he says, grabbing both Grantaire’s arms before he can think the better of it. “Okay, jump with me, but you better hurry up or I’ll—”

Grantaire is _much_ stronger than he seems and Enjolras always forgets. One moment his feet are still planted on the cliff, the next he’s in Grantaire’s arms and the wind is singing all around them. For a single moment they are weightless and Enjolras looks straight into Grantaire’s eyes, hearing his laughter scatter in the rush of air. Then he squeezes his eyes tight shut just in time.

The water isn’t cold, but it’s sudden. Sudden and everywhere. Enjolras can feel himself sinking and while his eyes refuse to open, his feet kick and he nearly opens his mouth in the sheer surprise in going from weightless to weighed down. Grantaire’s hand is still on his arm, however, and suddenly his other hand pulls him closer, fingers steady on the back of Enjolras’ neck. Soft lips press against his nearly startled-open mouth and Enjolras grabs hold of Grantaire in return, sliding his free hand into his hair to keep him close.

Enjolras can feel the water moving around his feet and suddenly they’re both being pushed up towards the surface, Enjolras gathered up safe in Grantaire’s arms. The press of water breaks above his head and fresh air and sunshine wash over his wet skin. Grantaire’s lips leave his and Enjolras takes in a breath, opening his eyes behind the curtain of wet hair now hanging past his face.

Grantaire is grinning at him, holding him nearly flush against his chest and moving his tail in strong, steady movement so Enjolras doesn’t have to tread water to stay up.

He moves his feet anyway and there’s a distinct difference between the feel of them. “I think I’ve lost a shoe,” he mutters, looking down and then looking back up at Grantaire with a grin. Because Grantaire’s skin looks different wet and his hair doesn’t go limp, but seems to grow in volume.

“You and your flip flops,” Grantaire snorts and he kisses him again, trying to wash the other one off Enjolras’ feet as well with the swish of his tail.

Enjolras prevents him by wrapping his legs firmly around his waist instead, upsetting Grantaire’s balance and toppling them both under water again.

Neither of them minds.


	24. Moonless Night

It’s a clear and crisp night. The sky hanging heavy, like velvet dotted with gemstones in place of stars. There’s no moon, making the starshine seem that much brighter, but plunging the world in as much darkness as a night like this has to offer.

It’s a darkness good for hiding in. Or for getting lost in if you don’t know your way.

In the seaside village all the doors are locked and all the lamps are lit. Because on nights like these there are strange noises drifting on the gentle breeze. The barking of seals, so nearly like laughter. The faint sound of hooves in the distance, paired with the faint singing of the wind. If it really is only the wind. And sometimes, for just a moment, the crackling of unseen, smokeless fires, that sounds almost like a voice with words…

…

Montparnasse can look haughty in any form he takes, but it is a shame that he is wearing his human face right now, because it is certainly the one that most clearly shows his embarrassment.

Jehan’s riotous laughter is bright and warm, but still sounds eerie resounding across the beach. “Oh I wish I had been in time to see that,” they hiccup, sparks snapping from their delighted eyes.

“If you had been I would not have _made_ that mistake,” Montparnasse grunts resentfully.

In future he will be more careful while playing hide and seek with Jehan in the dunes. Between the long locks shimmering in the dark and the sparks flying upwards the mistake between Enjolras and Jehan is perhaps not too surprising, but it is not one Montparnasse _ever_ wants to make again.

“Ah, don’t sulk, my love,” Jehan coaxes, and they wind their slender arms around his neck.

Montparnasse huffs, but he has no intention of sulking when he has the opportunity to have Jehan in his arms. He was chasing them for a reason after all. Not that he ever manages to catch them unless Jehan lets him, not even kelpie hooves are a match for the sparking quickness of a wisp. He has them caught now though, obligingly wound around him and more than happy to let him pull them closer and tip their head up slightly to press his lips against theirs. He kisses them deeply, breathing in fire that warms instead of burns and relishing the feeling of flames made flesh against his skin. There’s really nothing that compares to this.

As their lips moves against each other Montparnasse feels Jehan grow lighter and lighter in his arms. When he pulls away, their feet are no longer touching the ground. Mist has drawn up around the both of them, filling their little hollow in between the dunes, shielding them from the world. Or they would be shielded were it not for Jehan’s light. Because underneath Montparnasse’s fingertips their freckles now nearly seem to form constellations on their skin and Jehan’s hair is already twisting wildly towards the heavens like the fire it is.

Montparnasse watches in quiet adoration until Jehan blinks open their eyes, all glowing amber and full of fiery light.

“Oh,” they blush, only now aware of their loss of control. “Sorry.”

They make an effort to plant their bare feet on the ground again, but Montparnasse makes short work of immediately lifting them off them again. Because he is tall, even in his human form, and Jehan is never too heavy to carry.

“Never apologize,” he tells them emphatically and he quickly kisses them again, drinking the silver mist from their lips, and filling the night with fire once more.


	25. Fire to the Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by thatintrovertedbobcat asking for more Jehanparnasse on Tumblr <3

The sun is on its way down, warming the evening air and turning the water golden with its light. Montparnasse stands on the very edge of the water, every other wave washing over his bare feet. The black silk that hangs on his frame in place of his horse’s coat is still dry, despite the sea spray being swept up by the wind. That same wind is tugging on Jehan’s hair, making it frame their nervous face in wild locks.

“We don’t have to do this today, kindling,” Montparnasse says, keeping his voice gentle.

Jehan shakes their head determinedly. “But I want to.” They are wrapped in clothes pulled off a clothes line in the nearby village, their appearance all solid human form instead of dancing fire. There is not even a single spark in their amber eyes to betray what they truly are. As long as they keep all that is fire about them carefully hidden away, this should be safe.

Montparnasse smiles and extends a hand. “Come then, the water’s fine.”

Jehan glances at the waves and then up at his hand. Tentatively they lay their hand in his and take a step towards the water. They have danced along the shoreline so many nights. Montparnasse has seen them skip over the mist drifting over the waves, flitting about like the weightless wisp they are and never afraid of the spraying water or the splashing foam. But this is different. They want to know what swimming feels like. Want to see a bit of what he sees every day. A wisp can’t be submerged in water. If Jehan wants to swim they need to stay human until they are dry again, keep their fire and magic in check until they are safely returned to the shore. They assured Montparnasse they could do it, but right now their eyes are wide and anxious.

He does not pull on their hand, he waits until they take another step. Slowly, he steps back also, letting the water wash against his heels.

Jehan lets their fingers slip through his and hastily darts back.

Montparnasse feels a pang of regret, but he doesn’t show it. “Jehan,” he says soothingly. “Let’s leave it for another day.”

Jehan’s face clouds with conflicted feelings. “I  _do_  want to,” they insist. “The sea looks so beautiful…” For a moment their eyes look past him, gazing at the glittering waves, and they dart back to his. “But…it will be cold. I’m never cold! What if I try to warm myself and…”

Montparnasse walks towards them. “You really want to do this?” he asks.

Human or not, Jehan still looks like their red hair might burst into flame any moment. The lines around their mouth harden with determination. “Yes I do,” they say solemnly.

Alright then. Montparnasse leans forward, wraps his arms firmly around them and lifts Jehan off their feet. They blow out a surprised breath and throw their arms around his neck to hold on, but he has them cradled securely in his arms already.

“There,” he grins. “Will this do?”

Jehan wraps their arms a little tighter around his neck and nods nervously. “Yes.”

Slowly Montparnasse turns towards the sea and starts walking. Jehan always complains how heavy their human body is compared to their true form, but Montparnasse can carry them easily. He walks into the water with slow, steady steps. The cold doesn’t faze him and there’s excitement dancing in his chest. It is impossible to explain the sea to someone who has never been a part of it. He has wanted to show Jehan for ages.

He can feel excitement in Jehan too, but they hold on to him very tightly and when they hear the water splashing around his feet, they suddenly hide their face against the crook of his neck.

“It’s not that cold, kindling,” Montparnasse murmurs, his mouth close by their ear. “And I won’t let the water harm you.”

Jehan hums their agreement, but they do not move, they cling to him tightly as he keeps walking and Montparnasse is mindful of the water slowly rising past his thighs.

“Don’t let the waves startle you, love,” he says softly. “The cold doesn’t last long.”

“Mm,” Jehan mutters, muffled against his shoulder, but they stay put.

When the first wave reaches them Jehan lets out a squeak and they shiver. Montparnasse holds them tighter and hums comfortingly. He keeps walking his pace as steady as the tide and he feels Jehan’s human clothes grow drenched and heavy, the silk wrapped around his own limbs stays light, but it almost feels odd to still be wearing it.

“You are the first creature I ever carried into the sea on two feet,” he tells Jehan.

Their laughing breath brushes past his neck, but they don’t lift up their head. The water is already reaching to Montparnasse’s elbows, however, and soon the seafoam is nearly dancing around Jehan’s shoulder. The long, loose strands of their auburn hair are floating on the waves.

“Look at me?” Montparnasse asks, his voice very low and nearly one with the rush of the water.

Jehan lifts their head and looks at him eyes wide.

“Here we are,” he smiles and he gently lets Jehans slide out of his arms, grasping both their hands instead, and pressing his lips against theirs at the same time.

The kiss surprises Jehan and they forget to startle at the water that is suddenly all around them. Montparnasse’s feet are still planted firmly on the bottom and he has them caught safely by the hand as their feet treat water beneath them. When he pulls away Jehan blinks in surprise, their hair wet and their drenched clothes billowing around them in the water.

“Oh…” they breathe and Montparnasse grins.

“Just in time,” he says, glancing towards the west.

The golden sun touches the water and the entire sea floods with rippling light.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jehan gasps and Montparnasse feels his heart leap as their face floods with delight.

They are still holding on to his hands very tightly, but they are nearly moving freely in the water and they do not seem to mind the splashing in their face. Their eyes are large and adoring and Montparnasse is certain that given a little time they will be as graceful floating in the water as they are dancing on the wind.

“Not cold, are you, kindling?” he asks pleasantly, slowly moving further into the sea, further towards where the sun is setting the waves on fire.

“Not cold,” they smile, following him willingly through the water.

They look lovely, Montparnasse thinks. He grins at them. “Maybe you need a lesson or two before you can swim,” he says. “But perhaps you’ll let me take you for a ride?”

Jehan’s face lights up and Montparnasse grins even wider. He squeezes Jehan’s hands reassuringly before he lets them go and when they release him, he lets himself disappear under water. As soon as the waves close above him he breathes in the saltwater with greedy gulps and stretches his limbs to change them for their much stronger counterparts.

When Montparnasse raises his head above water again Jehan’s arms wrap around the curved neck of a horse.

“Next time,” they pant, struggling to seat themself on his back while the waves push and pull at them. “Remind me to wear less clothes.”

Montparnasse lets out an animal laugh that sounds out loud across the sea. He agrees wholeheartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! This collection isn't done~


	26. Swan Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written after a prompt from cantando-siempre, who writes some lovely fluffy stuff herself!

Éponine will always think Montparnasse's taste in clothes is fussy, but this _is_ a nice dress. She still misses her seal coat a little, wearing clothes reminds her too much of her parents. But this is a nice dress and in an odd way the deep blue matches Cosette's white. Like sea foam and deep water.

It's hard not to stare at Cosette. She is as graceful in her human form as she is in her feathers, stepping lightly beside Éponine, holding on to her hand as if she needs some reminding that she's supposed to stay on the ground.

Cosette’s light eyes flit up and meet Éponine’s, clearly catching her staring. But, Éponine reminds herself triumphantly, she’s allowed to stare at her girlfriend. She still flusters a little, but mostly because Cosette gives her a teasing smile and asks: “What?” In a low, warm voice.

Éponine decides not to begin answering that. She could talk until nightfall.

“Still not telling me where were going?” she says instead, pulling on Cosette’s arm a little.

“I told you,” Cosette says meaningfully. “Unless you can guess, it’s a surprise.”

Éponine pulls a face. “I never go this far inland, I have no idea where we are.”

Cosette has an unfair advantage, being able to see everything from the air whenever she takes flight. Still, for a selkie Éponine is very comfortable with being on land. The little lane Cosette is leading her down now is pretty, there are no houses here. The village here is not too bad, but Éponine doesn’t think she will ever be fond of paved streets again.

Something vaguely familiar stirs at the back of Éponine’s mind and she raises her head. “Is there water nearby?” she asks.

Cosette’s smile shines warm on her face. “I wondered if you’d know! I thought you may only be able to feel the sea.”

“No this isn’t the sea,” Éponine says, looking around. She looks expectantly at Cosette. “Is it a lake?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cosette says happily. “The best lake.”

Her face is so lit up that Éponine hurries her step without being asked. She has the feeling she’s about to be shown a secret.

“This is one of my favourite places,” Cosette says, softly but urgently, as they go off the path and start pushing their way through the thicket.

Éponine can feel the pull of water quite close by now, the gentle sound of waves. That is why it calls to her, she thinks, the waves. Streams murmur and rivers flow, but there are no waves. The call of the waves means that she knows the way as well as Cosette does, she no longer needs to be guided. They hurry along with equal eagerness.

“It is easier to reach by air,” Cosette laughs, a little breathless. Her cheeks are glowing and it’s a hard choice between rushing on towards the water and catching Cosette by the arm to beg for a kiss.

Éponine doesn’t get to choose though, because Cosette already eagerly grabs her hand and pulls her along. The landscape whirls past, branches tapping on their shoulders and roots tripping up their feet, until suddenly, there is the lake.

They both hold still, catching their breath and taking in the water spread out before them in one, long, quiet look.

“Waves,” Éponine breathes adoringly, because the wind is playing on the lake’s surface and the water rocks itself back and forth like a child of the sea. Put safely down here to sleep amidst the trees and underbrush.

“This is my water,” Cosette says and her voice is so very fond.

Éponine smiles. Their hands are still clasped together and she can almost feel the contentment flowing through Cosette’s entire being. The wind picks up a little and Éponine feels it playing through her own hair as she watches Cosette’s curls dance in the breeze.

Without even meaning to, they both lean down to take off their shoes. Éponine is pretty sure she’s the only selkie she’s ever met that willingly wears shoes. But she doesn’t like the feeling of her bare feet on rough surfaces, she’d rather wear the shoes.

But now she can’t wait to get them off. Cosette catches her hand again and they both walk into the water, the hem of their skirts fluttering just above the lake’s gentle waves. It feels different to the sea, this sweet water. It feels like Cosette.

“Thank you,” Éponine says quietly. “For showing me.”

Cosette doesn’t answer, she just smiles and squeezes her hand a little tighter.

They stroll through the shallow water together and suddenly, between Cosette’s hand in hers and the water swirling around her toes, Éponine remembers something.

“Hey, Zette…”

Cosette’s soft eyes flit to her face. “Yeah?”

Éponine hesitates, but there’s a sudden yearning in her chest and she has to ask. “Back…back when we were kids…” She stops herself.

“Yes?” Cosette prompts.

“You used to sing a song,” Éponine says. “Sometimes, when we were walking in the harbour.”

A strange sort of surprise fills Cosette’s face. “Yes…”

“Did it have words?” Éponine asks, looking into her face in an attempt to guess what is going on in Cosette’s mind. “I don’t think it did, but it’s so long ago, I’m not sure anymore.”

“It didn’t, or at least, I don’t know them,” Cosette says, her voice very quiet. She doesn’t sound sad, but thoughtful in a way that Éponine really wasn’t expecting.

“I haven’t sung that in ages…” Her rosy face grows sad with shame for a moment. “Ponine, I’m not even sure I still remember it.”

Éponine feels a faint pang of panic when she sees the distress growing on Cosette’s face. This was not her intention.

“I’ve always known that song,” Cosette says in dismay. “How could I forget about it? I knew it even before…before everything. How can I not remember, I—”

“I do,” Éponine interrupts.

Cosette’s eyes fix on her with sudden emotion. “You do?”

At least Éponine _thinks_ she does. She nods.

Cosette makes a pleading sound at the back of her throat, turning fully towards her with a splash of water around their ankles and grabbing her other hand as well. “Can you—I mean, would you…”

Éponine swallows. She’s not a good singer, never has been, but she tries really hard this time. “It went–” Bravely she begins the melody. Her voice is very soft, but the notes are true, and barely has the first tones left her lips, or Cosette’s eyes begin to shine wildly. Still singing, trying to call back the music from her childhood, Éponine watches how Cosette’s face fills with a bewildered sort of happiness.

It’s almost enough to make her stop singing, but that light in her eyes is because she is singing, so Éponine keeps going. She keeps going until Cosette’s is breathing in the rhythm of the melody, until her lips are nearly moving.

When Éponine breaks to draw breath Cosette does so too and a moment later her lips part in a burst of song, filling the air with the melody Éponine was providing a mere shadow of. The music wraps around the both of them and Éponine forgets to sing. It would not have mattered either way, because in her joy Cosette’s voice is gaining strength. The wind picks it up, lifting it high above them and the melody swells.

Cosette’s hands slip through Éponine’s fingers and Cosette spreads her arms like she wishes they were wings. With her head tipped back and the wind pulling on her like it wants to lift her up she looks almost more swan than girl, even without her feathers. But Éponine doesn’t fear hear flying away. In all the time she’s known Cosette after she met her again. All the nervous time of falling in love with her and then the blissful time of knowing her feelings are returned. All through the shy glances, the teasing smiles and the happy laughter. She has _never_ heard Cosette sing.

The smile trembling on her lips is involuntary and unrestrained and there is nothing, neither man or beast, in the four corners of the earth that Éponine wouldn’t fight in this moment to stop them from interrupting Cosette’s song.

The swan is singing again and the selkie wishes she’d never stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


	27. New Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent the _longest_ time at a loss about how to introduce Bahorel and Feuilly. But here they finally are!

There are new people in town again, everyone at the market is buzzing with it. It seems they bought the rundown little house near the butcher shop.

Marianne Enjolras is no gossip, but it’s good to know what’s going on in your neighbourhood. Hucheloup, owner of the local café, _is_ a gossip, and Marianne doesn’t feel guilty about encouraging her a little. She stops to chat with her on her way back home wit a pitcher full of cream (Enjolras has been studying very hard lately and he deserves a treat).

“What’s this I hear about two young men moving in next to the butcher?” she asks, after listening to Hucheloup sigh about the price of bread.

Hucheloup tuts. “Don’t know who’d go about calling them men,” she says. “Hardly more than a couple of boys, they are. Even if the one of them looks big and strong enough to lift an ox.”

“But all on their own?” Marianne asks critically.

“Oh they’re not as young as all that,” Hucheloup says reassuringly. “But boys all the same.”

“That remains to be seen.” One of Hucheloup’s regulars has joined them, clearly not so eager to get inside the inn that he felt the need to push past the two women.

“What on earth are you talking about, Joseph,” Houcheloop demands.

“Something odd about that big one,” Joseph says, lowering his voice meaningfully. “All that shaggy hair…”

“Being tall and a bit unkempt is his only crime then?” Marianne says coolly, she does not like his tone of voice.

“Weren’t nobody talking about crimes,” he protests. “But it is odd. Big dark fellow like that and the ginger kid barely leaving his side. The butcher told me that they came in to arrange a standing order—"

“You hold your tongue, Joseph Buquet,” Hucheloup scolds. “Or I could say a thing or two about _your_ dietary habits.”

“Just as you please,” he shrugs, putting up his hands. “But I’ll be telling my wife to bolt the windows round the full moon.” And with that he strode into the tavern with the air of a man who is pleased to know better than others, even if those others seem no need to respect this fact.

“She’d do better climbing out of them,” Marianne says disapprovingly.

“Takes all sorts,” Hucheloup hums complacently.

It is a sentiment Marianne agrees with for the most part, but she’s not inclined to extend it to _all_ sorts. In her younger years she might have started the argument, but right now she wants to get home with her pitcher of cream. She gives a warm goodbye to Hucheloup and walks on, resolving even not to go the long way round so as to pass by the butcher. What she _will_ do however, is tell her husband and son they should go visit.

This is a small town after all and it is good to be neighbourly. No other reason.

 

…

 

Enjolras is striding a few steps ahead of his parents, as he usually does. Of course he’d been more than willing to come along when his mother said she wanted to visit the new residents, but he’s not just coming along anymore. The people in the town are _talking_. Talking in the same way they used to about Combeferre. The same way they probably talked about himself. Talking instead of listening and presuming instead of asking, or, even better, just minding their own damn business. A dragon’s scowl is quite a thing and Enjolras is wearing one right now.

Behind him, his parents have to hurry a little to keep up with him. His mother is carrying a large packet wrapped in grease paper. Enjolras is still not sure about that. He had suggested they should bring some sort of housewarming gift and his parents had agreed, but none of them had known what to bring. They didn’t know what the new arrivals liked, after all. Except, according to the very pleased butcher at least, that they were fond of meat. So she had resolved to bring a meatloaf. Because baked goods were traditional, his mother had said, and meatloaf could still sort of pretend to be a baked good. Enjolras just doesn’t want them to think they are bringing this instead of, well, something else, because they _also_ listened to the twaddle they talked in town.

Of course he had listened to it, that is exactly why he is striding down the street right now with small sparks flying from every other exhaled breath. And of course his mother isn’t wearing her silver jewellery, just in case. But that isn’t the point. The point is to show the two new neighbours that they are welcome and Enjolras is determined to make that happen.

“It’s a nice house,” his father remarks when they reach their destination. “Needs quite a bit of work though.”

“Maybe they like a fixer-upper,” his mother says cheerfully.

Enjolras hopes so. He’d hate to think they had to settle for this because of other reasons. There doesn’t seem to be a doorbell, but there’s a knocker, so he uses that. Barely a second later there is a scrambling of noise inside, followed by a rather loud crash, as if someone tripped over something heavy. A moment later the door swings open and a friendly, freckled face smiles at the three of them.

“Hi!” the young man greets them. He’s older than Enjolras, he guesses, but quite a bit shorter.

“Hello,” Enjolras smiles back. “We just wanted to come welcome you to the neighbourhood.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Enjolras.”

“Feuilly,” he says, shaking his hand warmly. “And that’s really nice of you.”

“Glad to have you here,” Enjolras says emphatically and he steps aside. “These are my parents.”

“Marianne Enjolras,” his mother says with a smile.

“George,” his father adds and they shake Feuilly’s hand as well.

Enjolras glances up as a sudden perception of movement behind Feuilly in the rather dark hallway and only then does he see a second person waiting to greet them. He’s at least a head taller than Enjolras, which is not something he’s used to anymore, and so broadly built that his glossy mane of dark hair looks remarkably in balance with his silhouette.

“Bahorel,” he introduces himself in a deep voice, leaning over Feuilly’s shoulder in the narrow hallway to shake hands will all of them. “Always good to have nice neighbours.”

Enjolras smiles at him and Bahorel grins wider, glancing curiously at the package his mother is carrying.

“Something smells good…”

“A little housewarming present,” she says cheerfully.

“It needs some warming,” her husband quips. “How are you getting on.”

“Oh not too bad!” Feuilly says enthousiastically. “Please come in, have a look.” He tries to step aside, bumps into Bahorel and they half-shove, half-wrestle each other out of the hallway so their guests can come in. Enjolras glances at his mother, who smilingly closes the door behind them all.

As it turns out, Feuilly is quite the craftsman. He especially seems to know a lot about woodwork. A quick tour through the house shows that he’s already started considerable renovations with a remarkably fine attention to detail.

“And I’m the brute force,” Bahorel grins, once they’ve all sat down in the still extremely messy living room. “So that covers pretty much all our bases.”

“Luckily the masonry is still in order,” Feuilly laughs. “We’d be at a loss there.”

“Who says I couldn’t build wall as well as tear them down,” Bahorel protests, barely swallowing in time to not be talking with his mouth full. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Enjolras.”

“Marianne, please, and we baked it together,” she corrects warmly.

Bahorel looks a bit embarrassed, but he grins through it. “This is wonderful, united Enjolri.”

Enjolras snorts, and replies without a moment’s hesitation: “I think our plural is Enjolrai.”

Bahorel looks delighted. “Enjolrasses maybe?”

“Well,” George says, finishing his last sip of coffee with a smile. “I can see you’ll fit right in here. We’re still very happy with our decision to move here.”

“Absolutely,” Marianne agrees.

“It’s a good place with good people, for the most part,” Enjolras says seriously. “I will show you around some time if  you like?”

Feuilly’s smile lights up the room and Bahorel grins impossibly wide.

“That’d be awesome.”

Enjolras glows slightly in his chair, too pleased to keep his fire properly in check. But if the newcomers notice it, they’re polite enough not to mention it.

 

…

 

All in all the neighbourhood must agree that the newcomers fit in rather well. They’re always good-humoured and polite, all the local young people seem to like them, and it’s certainly good to see that shabby little house they’ve taken all fixed up.

Still, there are some wagging tongues. Because the house _has_ been completely shut up the past two full moons. And while their constant patronage of the butcher is very pleasing to _him_ , it _is_ a little suspicious. Of course, the gossips assure one another, there’s nothing wrong with it. They are very open-minded individuals after all, and as long as no chickens go missing or doors get scratched, there is no cause for alarm. But it _is_ a bit ill-mannered of this Bahorel boy to be so secretive about it. With his shaggy hair and his broad shoulders and his poor freckled friend showing up with scratches down his arm. Does he think they were born yesterday?

Well, never mind being told, they know what’s going on. There’s no question about it. Other people may be left in the dark, but _they_ are not so easily fooled.

 

…

 

Bahorel runs. The night is black as pitch, but behind the black clouds he knows the full moon is shining like a beacon. He swears under his breath and looks around wildly where to go. They’re in the middle of a town. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Maybe—

A sharp whistle makes his head snap round. Someone opened a window across the street.

It’s Mme Hucheloup, the owner of the café. Bahorel can just make out her shape, waving at him from the window.

“You there!” her voice cuts through the night in an urgent whisper. “Get over here.”

Bahorel runs a couple if steps towards her on instinct, but he’s already shaking his head. “I can’t—” he pants. “I’m looking for—”

“For you partner, yes,” she cuts him off. “He’s here. Now stay _put_ while I get the door.”

“What?” Bahorel blurts in astonishment, but he runs to the door all the same.

Barely a moment later Hucheloup opens the door and the next Bahorel finds himself being dragged inside by the front of his shirt.

“ _Shame_ on you,” Hucheloup hisses as soon as the door clicks shut behind them both. “Letting that poor boy run amok.”

“We were _playing_ ,” Bahorel defends himself indignantly, too stupefied by the fact that he’s being dragged around by a woman almost two heads shorter than him. “But- Wait. How did you—”

“I heard him outside,” Hucheloup says, finally letting Bahorel walk upright as she hurries towards the kitchen. “Figured he’d gotten the jump on you somehow. And seeing as I’ve never met a pup who wouldn’t go for a bit of lamb, I thought I might as well lure him safely inside.”

“He’s not a _pup_ ,” Bahorel protests, but Hucheloup merely sniffs and opens the kitchen door for him to see inside.

On the floor, in front of the lit stove, Feuilly is gnawing contently on what must at some point have been an entire leg of lamb. When the door opens he raises his head and then bows it ashamedly, grey eyes gleaming apologetically.

“Sure looks like a pup to me,” Hucheloup hums.

“Dude,” Bahorel groans, hurrying to Feuilly’s side and dropping to his knees. “Don’t _do_ that.” He scratches the wolf in the thick fur down his neck. He grins in spite of himself. “You _trampled_ me.”

Feuilly makes a soft whining sound and pushes his nose against Bahorel’s side.

“It’s okay,” Bahorel hums, scratching him behind his ears. “I’m not mad. I’m never mad.”

“What did he do?” Hucheloup asks. “Jump out of a window?”

“Yeah,” Bahorel winces.

“You got him too riled up,” she says with a shake of the head, but her voice sounds kind. “It’s good to tire them out a little, keep them entertained, but surely you know you can’t him roughhouse like that inside.”

“I know,” Bahorel mutters. “But…all these people here. I’m not putting him on a chain!”

Feuilly gives a growling whine and Bahorel hugs him closer. He’s never quite sure how much Feuilly understands when he’s under influence of the transformation, but certain things he _always_ picks up on.

“Nobody was suggesting _that_ ,” Hucheloup tuts comfortingly. “But your house has a basement, does it not? And you’re clearly well-fed, _despite_ your considerable appetite,” she looks down on Feuilly kindly, “so perhaps waiting the moonrise out in the woods is an option as long as the weather continues this nice.”

Bahorel blinks at her. That sounds awfully knowledgeable. “You…” he begins hesitantly. “You’re not…”

“Not quite, dear,” she says brightly. “But it used to be a double name you see. Huche-Loup. My family has dealt with a thing or two.” She plants her hands on her hips. “Well, seeing as you’ve both calmed down I think it’s time you boys got back to your own house.”

Feuilly seems a bit reluctant to leave the fire, but he follows when Bahorel scrambles to his feet.

“Now _you_ , no more escape attempts,” Hucheloup says, wagging her finger at Feuilly. “And you,” she glances up at Bahorel. “Don’t get so carried away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters. He shuffles back through the hallway, Feuilly at his heels and Hucheloup following them both.

At the door Bahorel turns around, looking at the stout little woman that probably just prevented the most important person in his life from seriously hurting himself. “Um, Mrs Hucheloup, _thank you_.”

She pats him on his arm. “Don’t mention it, we all look out for one another around here.” She holds out her hand to Feuilly and waits for him to nudge it with his nose before she gives him a pat on the head. “Off you go now, have a safe three moons.”

Bahorel nods a silent goodbye and hurries into the dark, keeping Feuilly very close. He should take care something like this doesn’t happen again. This is a good place, they both like it here. They liked it even before they met Enjolras. But once they did, and now he has introduced them to all his friends…they really don’t want to leave.

“No more roaming, right?” Bahorel says to Feuilly, once their front door is safely closed behind them. “That’s why we came here.” He grins, scratching his boyfriend under his chin. “We’ll have the windows fortified by the next moon, no one’s getting us away from this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you that are still here for this odd collection with infrequent updates: you're awesome <3


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